Cat and Cradle
by Merlin Missy
Summary: Consequences 3. As the time nears for three births, Demona makes plans to reclaim her own child.
1. Chapter 1

VVVVV  
Consequences Part Three: Cat and Cradle (1/3)  
a Gargoyles story  
by Merlin Missy  
Copyright 1998, 2005  
PG-13  
VVVVV

Characters and situations are the property of Disney/Buena Vista. No  
infringement on their work is implied or should be inferred. Special  
thanks to Nicole, who told me in the kindest terms possible which bits  
needed to be left on the cutting room floor.

VVVVV

They called it "New Year's," and the humans celebrated it just as much  
as they had the nights that Ruth called Hanukkah and Maggie  
Christmas and the real gargoyles Yule. Talon didn't call it anything at  
all, but he seemed to enjoy watching the rest of them have fun.  
Tonight's celebration wasn't quite so much fun as the last party; there  
had been toys then, wrapped in paper and boxes. "Presents," said  
Maggie and Elisa.

In the boxes with her name on them, Delilah had found a faceless rag  
doll with floppy wings and a blue dress, a checkerboard with checkers,  
some books about a vampire bunny rabbit, and a puzzle. Her brothers  
had also made out well: Brent had spent almost every waking moment  
with his new coloring books and his train, while Boo had gone to sleep  
each morning for the past week holding his favorite little car.

Delilah and her brothers liked presents.

There were no presents at this celebration, although a lot of  
the same people had come from outside: Elisa and Peter and Diane  
and Hudson and Goliath were in the big room with the rest. Delilah  
didn't like being around Goliath. He was nice to her, but he  
looked at her funny or didn't look at her at all. All the real  
gargoyles did, but he did especially. She knew why: she was ugly  
and fat.

She looked down at her belly. Try as she did, she was getting  
fatter every day. Maggie was too, but that was different. Maggie  
was going to have a baby. Maggie and Ruth said Delilah was going  
to lay an egg. 'Lilah thought a baby sounded like lots more fun.  
Thailog had told her that he didn't want her to get fat. He would  
be very disappointed in her.

She frowned. She didn't like the thought of making Thailog  
unhappy. It made her unhappy, too.

It didn't matter anyway. Thailog was dead, after fighting with Demona,  
and he was the only male who would have her because she was so ugly.  
So she could get as fat as she pleased.

'Lilah moved her hand over her face, feeling her features. None of the  
others in the room noticed as she pushed her lips into a pout and then  
let go.

She knew from the few times she'd seen her own reflection that  
she looked very much like Elisa. Elisa was pretty, for a human,  
and the way that Goliath looked at her suggested she might also be  
pretty for a real gargoyle. 'Lilah thought that should make her own face  
pretty. But it wasn't. Her ears were gargoyle ears, and she had ridges  
like a gargoyle, and her hair was blue-white like Thailog's had been.  
She was a bad copy of Elisa. She could see that in the eyes of the real  
gargoyles when they looked at her, except for Angela, and Angela had  
gone far away. She missed Angela. They had fought once, but that had  
been a long time ago; Angela was her friend now, like Maggie.

Elisa and Goliath had taken up a small corner of the room to  
themselves, just talking. Goliath was looking at Elisa that way  
again, the same way Thailog used to look at her. 'Lilah tried not  
to feel sad and half succeeded.

"Hello lass," said a voice near her and she jumped a little  
until she saw Hudson.

"Oh, hello," she said in a small voice. She was still afraid  
around the real gargoyles sometimes.

"Are ye enjoyin' the festivities?" He didn't much look like  
he was having fun. Maybe it was because the others weren't there  
and he missed them. Maybe he missed Angela too.

"It's okay."

"Well, perhaps ye'll like the next gatherin' a mite better."

"More parties?" They were kind of fun, but there certainly  
were an awful lot of them lately.

"Not a party. A celebration. When ya kindle." That appeared  
to explain everything to him.

"What!" In her mind, she saw fire all around her.

"When yer egg comes, child. It'll be the first egg in our clan in over a  
thousand years." He smiled at her, a rare thing from any of the real  
gargoyles. "It's a happy time, a day more sacred even than the Winter  
Solstice, and you'll be the center of attention."

"I don't want to be the center." She poked at the bulge at her stomach.  
"I don't want to have an egg."

"Ya haven't much choice now," he replied gently, and under his  
breath, she heard him add, "An ya ever did."

"'Lilah! C'mere!" Boo's yell cut through the noises of the other people  
in the big room. Hudson bowed his head to her and then held out his  
arm. 'Lilah looked at it.

"Let's go hear the humans sing. Even if they're doin' it  
eleven nights late."

"Okay." Singing? All these parties involved singing. When  
they held the fire party, they'd probably sing again. Hudson picked up  
her hand and put it in his. He started walking, and 'Lilah walked with  
him.

The group of them gathered around the radio, except for Goliath and  
Elisa, who were still in the corner not paying attention. Malibu looked  
at her and put on a funny face, very much like a real gargoyle. She  
didn't like that. It was one thing for the real gargoyles to stare at her  
because she was ugly; it was another for one of her rookery brothers to  
do the same.

Hudson patted her on the shoulder and moved to stand nearer Peter and  
Diane. 'Lilah nestled in the comfort of her brothers' presence, as  
Malibu lost interest in staring at her. The humans were gearing up for  
something. They were counting, though they were doing it funny.  
Banky had been very proud of himself when he'd counted all the way to  
fifty by himself, but he'd never done it backwards.

"Nineteen ... eighteen ... seventeen ... " 'Lilah tried to keep up, but the  
numbers were going in a direction she didn't know at all. She contented  
herself with nodding in time with the counts, noticed her brothers doing  
the same.

" ... two ... one ... Happy New Year!" The humans shouted and  
clapped, so 'Lilah patted her hands together. She saw Talon reach  
his arms around Maggie and kiss her on the neck, and turned away  
blushing. Most of the humans were cheerful, a few singing in their  
happiness. She edged closer to her brothers and looked for Elisa.

Elisa was still in the corner with Goliath. Unable to help herself, she  
watched as he took Elisa into a winged embrace, ducking his head to  
press his mouth against hers.

'Lilah's wings were already draped around her body. She pulled them  
closer to her, remembering the feel of strong arms holding her, the taste  
of lips, the moist growls in her ear, the knowledge that she was where  
she belonged, that she was doing what she was meant to do.

In a room filled with celebration, Delilah felt terribly alone.

VVVVV

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot ... "

The rankling sounds of humans caterwauling from the television  
shook her from her half-doze, and before she was quite awake, she  
thought to herself, "But Batya still hasn't posted that yet ... "  
Then she was completely alert, if not entirely sober, and in the  
fraction of time between the two states, she wondered who this  
Batya person was.

The humans' wretched singing continued, and she growled,  
forgetting her semi-dream completely. She sat up from where she'd  
been hunching on her couch, and regretted the motion instantly as  
she reeled. Her tail lashed for support and found it, righting her  
before she fell. Her mood worsened with the throbbing of her head.

Demona didn't drink often. She'd had her fill of quaffing  
mead and ale when she'd been young and happy. Wine was for  
celebration; again, something she hadn't enjoyed much in recent  
years. She'd discovered centuries back that too much alcohol  
brought unpleasant thoughts to the forefront of her mind, needling  
reminders of how much her fate had been as a direct result of her  
own doing. She couldn't drink to forget.

On the other hand, this was a special occasion. Not only did  
the solstice mark her first meeting with Thailog, it also marked  
the end of the year in which she'd met her daughter, both surely  
milestone events in her life. The one had used her and dropped her  
for his genetically-engineered whore. The other despised her, and  
that was worse, much worse than her last lover's betrayal, worse  
even than Goliath's betrayal of their clan's trust. Angela had met  
her, and found her wanting, and so Demona drank.

Solstice. Hmm ... It _had_ been solstice when she'd started  
this little binge, hadn't it? And the humans were singing their  
New Year's songs. Stupid humans, celebrating eleven days after the  
year began. Her head was still very fuzzy as she redid the math.  
Eleven days. She hadn't been that drunk that long in at least  
three centuries.

Hell with it. She had a business to run again. She'd planned  
on going somewhere for the holidays, hadn't she? She couldn't  
remember, only recalled telling her latest secretary that she'd be  
back after a while. It was time to return.

Return to what? asked a small voice.

"My life," she said out loud.

_You don't have a life. You have a shadow that you cling to  
and call it existence. If you had any sense of honor left, you'd  
go find Macbeth and ask him to end both your lives._

"Who the hell are you!"

_I'm you. I'm the part you've been trying to drown in bourbon  
this past week._

"You sound like that fay wretch." An image of Puck swam  
before her vision, but she knew this Puck was in her mind and only  
half-swatted him away.

_I sound however you want me to sound. You know I'm right._

"I am not going to kill myself," she enunciated. "I want to  
live. I want to build a world for my daughter, where she can be  
safe from those blasted humans."

_Then do something about it._

"I've tried!" She noticed that she was shouting at herself  
and didn't give a damn. "Every time I've tried, something goes  
wrong."

_Quitter._

"Am not," she slurred.

_Prove it_. And thankfully, the voice shut up, leaving her  
alone again. As she was always alone.

Angela ... She remembered her first sight of her child, as Demona had  
recovered from yet another death. Her face had been so open, so  
innocent, and even then, before she'd known for certain, part of her had  
already known and felt and rejoiced. The miracle of miracles had  
occurred: her egg, her only egg, had hatched in safety and grown into a  
remarkable young woman.

And Goliath had found her first, had poisoned her mind against  
her mother.

She'd tried, hard, to get the girl to see reason. She'd gone so far as to  
willingly spend months in a cage just to have her ear. Nothing had  
worked. Angela wouldn't listen.

She should have dropped the vial, ended it for them all.

No, where there was life, there was hope. Angela lived, and  
could be made to see. She was so young, so beautiful, and just  
slightly confused as to the way of the world.

Demona was immortal. She could spend the time. She _would_  
spend the time.

Suddenly, everything was clear to her. She knew what she had  
to do, and how to go about doing it. The plan crystallized in her  
mind like a sudden snowstorm, covering her inner terrain with a  
crisp white blanket of logic: kill Goliath, frame his human pet,  
and Angela would know the truth about humans.

Demona remembered why she did drink sometimes. It made her  
world a simpler place.

VVVVV

The party ended late, for those who went by a daylit schedule.  
For the night-dwellers, it was the equivalent to some time after  
lunch and before dinner. Elisa had counted herself among the  
latter for the past few years, and found herself amused when the  
rest of the group started nodding at only 2 am.

She had a rare night off, and didn't care to waste it sleeping. She'd  
barely tasted the champagne, unlike many of the other revelers. As  
people wandered, or staggered, off in their pairs and families, with  
many solitary party-goers also returning to their dark homes, she  
noticed several people eying her in curiosity and only now did she  
remember why. She had been utterly at ease down here in Goliath's  
presence, hadn't even thought to hide her feelings towards him in front  
of everyone else.

Ease. She smiled. She felt easy around him, and not in the sense her  
siblings would automatically take it, either. With Goliath, she didn't  
have to be always in charge, always strong, always right. Yet, when she  
was with him, she set the pace their relationship was taking, and she  
was strong, and her life felt more right than it ever had before.

She'd noticed the same effect in him. Around the rest of the  
clan he was the leader, the decision-maker, the rock on whom the  
others leaned, if one pardoned the pun. When they were together,  
he could relax. They would sit for hours and discuss books, or  
watch rented movies and then debate theme, metaphor and mood.  
She'd reintroduced him to Shakespeare via Jacoby and Brannagh and  
Thompson. He pressed books into her hands she hadn't read. In her  
free moments, she'd found there new friends in John Irving and  
Walter Mosely, then had to explain to him why the protagonist in  
the latter's works was treated so poorly by the other characters.  
He found it peculiar that humans would waste so much time hating  
other humans for no better reason than the birthplaces of each  
other's great-grandparents. This had led to a long discussion of  
the 1960's, as filtered through her own memories and stories her  
parents had told.

As he questioned, and learned, and challenged her, he was not  
the same person who ordered nightly patrols of the city, and who  
met with Xanatos to discuss appropriate boundaries for all the  
castle's residents. With her, and only with her, he was a dreamer  
apt to become lost within the world of Byron's gloomy visions. He  
was also the first person who'd held out his hand and offered to  
take her with him when he did.

"Elisa ... " She recoiled back to reality with a snap. In her reverie, she  
had once again disregarded the rest of the world, and blushed slightly as  
she noted the room was much emptier than it had been minutes ago,  
and was growing cooler for the lack of body heat. Her mother stood  
beside her. Her father was a few feet away, still in conversation with  
Derek, but the smirk almost hidden on his lips let her know he'd seen  
her distraction.

"Your father and I are going home in a few minutes. Would you  
like a ride?"

"No thanks. I think we're walking back."

"All right." Her mother hugged her, and only then did Elisa  
notice something was not all right. She heard the restrained  
emotion as her mother said softly, "Happy New Year, Elisa."

"Mom?" She pulled away, read the strain on her mother's face.  
"What is it?"

"Nothing." Her hands lingered at Elisa's shoulders, played  
idly with Elisa's hair behind her. "Do you remember the first time  
we let you stay up to watch the ball at Times Square?"

"No, because I fell asleep at eleven anyway." She smiled, and  
Mom smiled back. That was it. She was just feeling maudlin about  
all her chicks being out of the nest, and her first grandchild on  
the way. "Happy New Year, Mom," she said.

Her mother blinked quickly, and her mascara smeared. Her  
father, sensing his wife's distress, or just ready to go, appeared  
at her side.

"Are you riding with us?" he asked her. Behind him, she saw  
Claw gathering the clones. She shook her head while Maggie and  
Claw led the garish group away, probably to the chamber that was  
their schoolroom and playroom. "Okay." He gave her a kiss on the  
forehead. "Give us a call now and then. I don't want to have to  
come down here to pump Derek for details about you all the time."

"I heard that," said her brother, picking an errant cup from  
the ground disdainfully. Derek had never been a big fan of washing  
dishes.

"I'll call," she promised.

"Good-night, Goliath," said her mother, her eyes going from  
him to Elisa and back again quickly.

He bowed his head gracefully. "Diane. Peter."

"Which way are ye headed out?" asked Hudson, who'd walked up  
behind them. "I'm goin' back to the castle," he added to Goliath.  
He appeared sober, and Elisa reminded herself: bigger body mass,  
bigger tolerance. Mathematical fact.

"I'll be in later," said Goliath. Hudson nodded his acknowledgment,  
and escorted her parents out. She worried for a  
moment, then decided the three of them could handle any trouble  
they encountered on the way to her parents' car.

"I'm sure you two would like to hang out here all night," said  
Derek, "but some of us would like to get some rest." He took her  
into a hug. "Happy New Year, Sis."

"Happy New Year, little brother," she replied, and for a  
moment saw the same vague sadness she'd seen in their mother's  
eyes. "What is it?"

"Did Beth tell you why she went back to school so soon?"  
Goliath suddenly found something interesting to look at on the  
floor.

"She wanted to make some headway on her honors thesis." She  
paused. "Didn't she?" Beth hadn't been exactly communicative with  
the family since Thanksgiving; she'd spent only four days at home  
for Christmas. She'd been going through a rebellious period.  
Elisa's view on it was to let her sort things out on her own terms.

She'd watched Derek's radical rebel phase, all three weeks of  
it, with somewhat less detachment. He'd told her she was selling  
out to the system by applying for the Academy. She'd told him to  
drop the victim mentality and grow up. Eventually, they had met in  
the middle, like they always did. He'd reduced his involvement  
with the Panthers in favor of other activities, while she began  
examining, then challenging, minority hiring practices on the  
force. It hadn't made her many friends in those first days, but it  
had won respect among the people who were now her coworkers.

"I don't know why she did it," admitted Derek. "It's probably  
just schoolwork, like you said, but it's bothering Mom."

"I noticed."

"Anyway," he said, "you two get going." He glanced up at  
Goliath. "Make sure she gets home okay?"

"Of course."

"Excuse me," she said sweetly, "but who ends up saving whose  
neck most of the time?"

Derek didn't laugh, but he did smile toothily, and she hugged  
him again. The missing happiness returned to his face. A moment  
later, she saw Maggie back from the darkness, and understood that  
Claw would be clone-sitting this evening.

She placed her hand in Goliath's arm, and walked with him.

They took the most direct route from the Labyrinth to the  
Park. It was bitterly cold outside, too cold to stroll despite the  
thick coat she'd brought out for this week. They found the rock  
promontory near the Museum. He wrapped her in his arms as they  
took flight.

As the gargoyle flew, her apartment wasn't far. Within a few  
minutes, they'd reached her rooftop, and as it was really too cold  
for her to stand outside and talk, he came inside without quarrel  
or hesitation. She hung her coat on the rack, beside her  
temporarily-abandoned jacket. She brushed it once to smooth it,  
felt warm spots lingering from where it had been pressed against  
him, and shivered.

"Do you want some coffee or tea?" she asked quickly.

"Tea." He stood in her living room, awkward for all his years.

"You can sit down, you know." She ran the tap until it was  
cold, then filled the teapot and set it on the stove. "Any tea  
preference? I've got a few."

Her Secret Santa this year had given her a huge sampler of  
teas, then a super-sized coffee mug with her name, and finally, a  
year's paid subscription to the Precinct Coffee Club. The fourth,  
and Santa-revealing, gift had been a little figurine of the station  
house, with the clock tower intact. The city had been selling them  
as a fundraiser to get the place fixed. "Santa Bluestone" had  
glued seven pebbles to the top. She'd been so happy that she'd  
actually pulled him under the mistletoe and kissed his cheek, and  
oh but that had given the rumor mill a holiday present of its own.

"Do you have any ... darjeeling?" He said the word uneasily,  
like a boy on his first date asking for a Coke.

She checked. "Yes." She took out a darjeeling and a raspberry.

As she walked into the living room, she glanced at the figurine on the  
coffee table. Matt, Morgan, and some of the other singles on the force  
had thrown a party of their own this evening. She was just as happy to  
bow out; the only one who knew she was seeing someone was Matt,  
and everyone else thought she was seeing _him_.

Goliath had left a perfect Elisa-sized spot open for her on  
the sofa. She placed herself there happily, and rested her head  
against his arm.

No, she wasn't seeing Matt.

He made a noise in his throat as she settled more comfortably  
into him: a gargoyle purr, if there was such a thing, or perhaps  
just a heavier sigh than a human made. She'd never been sure, knew  
only that it was a noise she felt in the pit of her stomach, to be  
followed by the quick hot firing of her nerves. Whatever he was  
doing, it always managed to make her feel warm. The kettle chugged  
on the stove, making sharp noises of its own.

Goliath's hand rested on her shoulder, one talon playing  
unconsciously with a dark lock of her hair. That one touch was all  
he gave her. Had she not moved against him, he would not have  
dared even that. She wondered sometimes if he was afraid she might  
break.

Instead of asking him, she took his hand from her shoulder,  
held it at her cheek, and slipped out from under his arm to catch  
the kettle before it squealed. His craggy features moved through  
bewilderment and disappointment in less than a moment and he  
covered both as she poured the tea. Once upon a time, she wouldn't  
have known his face well enough to have even noticed. Tonight, she  
couldn't imagine not knowing every detail, every expression, from  
a long series of sunny days spent snoozing in his shadow, watching  
him as he rested in stone slumber.

"One darjeeling, no sugar," she said brightly, and handed him  
the steaming mug. His hands surrounded hers, burning her more with  
that warmth than the cup itself did. She gasped, and he withdrew  
like a shot.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she lied. What was wrong with her? She hurried  
back into the kitchen, turned her face from his for long enough to  
catch her breath, and then brought her own tea into the living  
room. "Be careful, it's hot."

He sipped at his tea with perfect delicacy, enough to shame  
the most proper Brit. Then she remembered he _was_ British. Her  
mind, completely without reason, provided her with the sound of his  
lovely deep voice doing a Sean Connery imitation. The grin on her  
face wouldn't leave.

She set the tea carefully on the coffee table and returned to  
her previous position. He had shifted a little, and the warm spot  
had moved. She settled in anyway.

"I wonder what the rest of the clan is doing," Goliath mused,  
and again his voice sent shudders inside her.

"They did Times Square at midnight, right? They're probably  
out enjoying themselves right now." More like Lex and Brooklyn  
were trying to get Broadway to enjoy himself. He'd been moody and  
sulky since Angela had returned to Avalon. She couldn't blame him.  
If she had to face losing Goliath for months, maybe years, she  
would probably be in a lousy mood, too. Heck, she hated being away  
from him during the day.

Maybe he had learned telepathy and was reading her thoughts,  
for he tentatively moved his arm down and curled it around her,  
drawing her closer to him. When she neither objected nor  
shattered, he smiled a little. He was so handsome when he smiled.

_I love you,_ she thought at him as a test. He didn't respond,  
and she sighed. It seemed there would be no mind reading tonight.  
But somehow, she didn't mind.

VVVVV

A hand slapped down in front of his face, rattling the desk, scattering  
papers like crisp autumn leaves. Anton opened one eye, saw the  
deceivingly delicate fingers splayed before him, followed the curve of  
the hand to where it was swallowed in a richly-tailored red sleeve. He  
closed his eye again.

"Wake up," she hissed impatiently.

"I'm awake." He recalled looking at his watch around four am,  
thinking to himself that he'd somehow missed the birth of 1997,  
then returning to the calculations he'd been poring over for the  
previous nine hours. He'd prefer using a computer, but this  
particular sequence involved matrix functions he hadn't encountered  
since his days at MIT, and while software was available that could  
probably handle the load, he trusted his own thought processes  
better. Besides, he could check them later. He'd grown too  
excited at his latest project to allow even the delay of inputting  
the mess into the mainframe to separate him from the answer. He'd  
gotten close, too. He hadn't just found the replication rate of  
this thin strand of proteins, he'd almost, _almost_ found out why.  
What could be understood could be controlled. He curved his mouth.  
Not cloning, not splicing, but soon, the creation of life itself in  
any form he desired would be within his grasp. Then they would  
see. His mind formed a pleasant image of Meikle, who'd gotten him  
thrown out of the university, his face a mask of terror as Anton's  
baby walked towards him with deliberate, slurping steps ...

Hands grasped his collar, pulled him up and against the back  
of his chair. Sleep was so much more restful in his bed than on  
his desk; one would think he could learn to go home. He opened his  
eyes again.

"Oh, it's you. I'd hoped you left."

"I need something from you." He let his gaze wander from her face,  
felt satisfaction as she dropped him and glared at him in disgust.  
"Watch your place, Sevarius."

"Yes, Demona. I'd like to help, really I would, but as you can see," he  
indicated his work, now strewn about the desk and floor, with a sweep  
of his hand, "I'm quite busy."

"You'd best not be too busy for me. It would be a pity if you  
outlived your usefulness."

He considered reminding her who was the scientist and who the  
half-gargoyle metamorph, then decided she would be more easily  
controlled when she was calm. "What do you want?" he asked in fake  
resignation.

"You cloned Elisa Maza," funny how much venom she could put in  
the mention of the woman's name, "and made that ... _thing_." The  
venom doubled.

Anton couldn't resist. "You mean Delilah."

The darkness on her face made him regret saying the name, as  
she shoved him back with such force he lost balance. The chair  
legs tilted out from beneath him, and he tumbled to the floor.

"Bad enough that he stole my very genes, but then put _her_  
face on his toy." She growled, and he remembered again that the  
red-haired woman was merely the guise, and the blue demon beneath  
the reality. She would just as easily break his neck as sign his  
paycheck, and only his brain and charm kept her from doing it.  
When his charm wore thin, he still had a sizeable bargaining chip.  
He hoped it would be enough.

"You used her blood."

"Yes." The mosquitoes had been a stroke of genius, even for  
him.

"I need a sample of it."

Questions fired in his mind: "What for?" "Are you mad?" "Do  
you honestly think I'd give it to _you_?" His self-preservation  
instincts kicked in, leading him to instead ask, "You do?"

"I do."

"I don't have any left."

"What? You had enough to make a clone."

"That was months ago. The little I had degraded, and even  
then I had only a few drops." Which he had cryogenically frozen as  
soon as he'd been able, but she didn't need to know that. His  
other project needed base materials; he hadn't yet given up hope of  
using Maza directly rather than the pale reflection he'd created.  
The other reflections, and he had a little something from everyone  
he could, remained sleeping in cold storage, and would until their  
own times had come. He reminded himself to check his assets in  
Switzerland. He'd have to make a large transfer soon, if all went  
according to plan.

"Get more."

"I have her DNA code on file. If you want to clone her, I can  
do it without more samples."

"I don't want another Elisa Maza!" she snapped. "I don't want  
the one we have now. She and her kind are a blight on the planet."  
Anton frowned but did not disagree. For the most part, he had to  
admit his own race was worthless. Given a little time, he was  
certain he could improve it. Why not? Wasn't he a shining example  
of what could be done given the right tools? He barely considered  
himself in the same species with the things he'd dragged from the  
streets for his experiments back in the good old days. Humans?  
Them? Hardly. They'd been more like rats, scrounging bitterly on  
the edges of society for food and heat. Anything he'd done had  
only raised them up from the decay that had been their only  
existence.

"Then what _do_ you want?" He attempted to sound impatient  
without being rude. Rudeness could get him killed.

"I want her blood. Drops will suffice. Obtain it for me."

"I told you, I'm busy."

"Yes. You are."

He considered arguing, pointing to his work again, playing up  
its benefits to her. Then he saw the look in her green eyes, and  
stifled a shudder. Demona, Dominique, whatever she wanted to call  
herself, had always been one shade within the happy side of  
insanity. He'd seen her drift to the opposite end once or twice,  
and he felt grateful for being permitted to live through those  
experiences. In many ways, she was like a rabid dog. He'd  
eventually have to put her down, though he hadn't the faintest clue  
as to how.

He'd learned of her immortality from Thailog, who'd wondered  
if it would also apply to Delilah. It didn't appear to, and the  
clone had been too fond of the plaything he'd created to test her  
limits. The thought was intriguing to Anton's mind. Could he  
isolate what made Demona immortal, use it for himself? Xanatos  
would sell what remained of his soul for that secret, and Anton  
would be more than happy to be the one collecting.

She waited before him, expecting an answer. If it was the  
wrong one, he'd probably die before he finished his project, his  
reason for working. That would be a pity.

"I'll see what I can do." Mosquitoes in January? No one was  
going to buy that one. He'd have to figure out a better means of  
gathering blood, short of vampirism. He sighed and started  
thinking about his new problem.

VVVVV

Because it was New Year's Day, and because his employers were  
both suffering mild hangovers from the client party the night  
before, Owen had the day free. Had it been any other holiday, he  
probably would have spent it in his office or his quarters,  
immersed in work. He was still behind from his forced  
convalescence of October and November.

The part of him that had seen over three thousand years was  
amused by the significance humans placed on their passage. One  
year, after all, was really much like any other. One more year  
around the sun, eh, and a tip of the champagne bottle, and watch  
them not even celebrate it at the proper time. Two months late  
they were this time. One might as well choose the fourteenth of  
July and call it New Year.

The part of him that wore the body of a thirty-two year old  
mortal had taken up a certain tradition on this day. When he'd  
first come to New York to live, the woman known to the world as  
Anastasia Renard had already been performing it for years. He had  
joined her in the ritual, and eventually taken over for her, as she  
traveled further and further from this place.

The cream-coloured jacket he wore was a bit light for the  
weather. He adjusted the parcel he carried, then zipped the jacket  
to his neck. He had forgone his typical business suit for more  
comfortable apparel; mostly unworn, the material chafed at him as  
if it were new. His legs itched from walking.

Central Park was never deserted. He saw joggers, trying to  
make the most of the dying afternoon light, puffing small clouds of  
steam as they made their determined way on their accustomed trails.  
A few brave pet owners walked their dogs, staring at them in the  
hopes of convincing them that here was as good a spot as any, and  
swearing when Fido or Fifi only sniffed and moved onwards.

Mortals.

He found the place for which he'd been looking. The landscape  
rolled up and over, showing a gaping mouth of a steam tunnel.  
Glancing around to be certain of no special attention being paid  
him, he strolled inside.

Ten minutes later, he was climbing down a vast staircase that  
headed beneath the bowels of the city. He had no idea who had once  
carved it, or why it had been abandoned. Strange things existed  
here in the netherworld beneath the city streets, and this was not  
the strangest. Several blocks over, Talon and the other Mutates  
had taken up residence with some homeless folk, a fact which amused  
his master and worried him. They were dangerously close to  
_another_ community very much like their own, and the time wasn't  
yet right for the two to meet.

He flashed his Maglite down the stairwell. It highlighted  
nothing but more darkness. He shivered involuntarily, although it  
was warmer in here than outside. The last time he'd come, he'd  
been informed that the great blind white Alligator King had been  
slain by a woman who called herself Hunter, and he was fairly  
certain it had not been Robyn Canmore. He did not fear this  
Hunter. He feared the things that had remained hidden in the  
darkness dreading the King's wrath.

Something caught in the beam of his light. Yes, there it was!  
The marker!

A few more steps, and he was on the correct level. The winds  
blew at him, whispering voices from the city beyond. Some called  
to him, _Come dance with us, pretty fairy!_ Some tempted him with  
mortal pleasures, some with the forbidden but more savory  
enticement of a return to grace.

He blocked his ears, and the insincere promises of the wind  
faded. They sang old songs of forgotten dreams, and had only the  
power he granted them. Her chamber was just past here.

The brown old woman bent over a cauldron, muttering to herself. She  
wore a concoction of gaily-colored rags, making her almost  
indistinguishable from any other homeless person on the street. If one  
knew where to look, and how, one might have seen a pattern to her  
crazy-quilt clothing, a style of courtly garb centuries out of date.

She did not turn around, but said in a light Jamaican accent, "So.  
You've been banished."

"Bad news travels quickly. Who told you?"

"I do have a brain." Her accent vanished. "All the magic has  
gone from this place, save a sprinkling on you that is not even  
your own. Oberon has finally discovered his lapdog's teeth, and  
has sent him into the streets with the rest of the curs."

"I prefer to think of it as being on extended holiday in the  
mortal world."

She turned around, scowling. "Trickster."

"Witch."

"Lackey."

"Traitor."

"Perhaps I'm not the only one. Why did he cast you out?"

"I refused his summons. He's called for the Gathering."

"Don't you think I know that!" She tapped her forehead. "I  
can hear him, calling me. Another part of my punishment, to feel  
the overpowering urge to return with the rest of our kind, knowing  
that to do so means my death." She peered at him. "But it seems  
you understand that, too."

"Yes." She went back to her stirring. He found a nearly-  
clear space to set the bundle he'd brought her. "How are the  
children?"

"Vincent's second child was born late in the summer. A girl."

"I sensed." For being utterly ignorant of his origins and  
completely untrained, Vincent had a surprisingly strong presence,  
a trait he appeared to have passed on to his children.

"His brother has taken up with a young woman. I expect  
they'll wed soon." She smiled vaguely. "He builds things, you  
know, out of iron. He's another Hephaestus." She went back to her  
stirring. She had told him the same thing a year ago. The boy  
might be married now, or dead. The woman's mind was not what it  
had once been.

He considered her, thoughtfully. Before Oberon's ascension to  
the throne, all of their kind had been created by the first Queen  
or else born of other Children. Oberon was bound to prove he could  
create a child from pure magic as She had done with him, and to  
outdo Her work. His first attempt had been to create the  
impossible: a Child with no fear of iron. He succeeded, and  
brought forth Hephaestus. It was true the new Child could bend  
iron to his will, something no other of their kind dared even  
consider, but in return he had very little magic, and could not  
change the hideously ugly form he wore. Oberon, always too  
enamored of beauty, was repulsed by his creation, and never  
attempted another Child with the iron gift.

As time went by, others dabbled in the formation of life from  
raw magics. Narcissa and her husband created between them a  
simulacrum of Aphrodite, and named her Galatea. The jealous  
goddess, seeing her own beauty rivaled, bade her son Eros to put  
love for the ugly Hephaestus into the girl, hoping to make her a  
laughingstock among the others. The final jest had been on  
Aphrodite, for the couple became the closest of lovers and friends.  
When the rebellion had come, and Hephaestus and Narcissa were  
banished forever for their roles in the battle, Galatea had  
accepted banishment with them. The lovers had died in exile. He  
himself had attended Hephaestus' funeral at Titania's side.

"The Queen sends her regards," he said, finally.

The stirring stopped. "How does she fare?"

"Well. She remarried Oberon and has returned to the Island."  
He hesitated. "She has become a grandmother."

"Not from the Three."

"No. The halfling. Fox."

"Indeed." She looked out into nothingness. When she began to  
speak again, he knew she was Seeing. He had the gift of prophecy,  
could make out images of what might be. Narcissa, like poor  
Cassandra, was cursed with True Sight. What she Saw _would_ be.

"I have a secret to tell you, Trickster. We are never far  
from those we love." She stared at him with sightless eyes.  
"Vincent's girl-child will know the babe whose cradle you rock.  
She will be his Titania." Fear trickled down his spine.

"I have to go," he said quickly. "There's food and clothing  
in the bundle." He moved to the doorway of the chamber.

"When you next see the Queen, send her my love."

"I will." She turned back to her cauldron. She pulled out  
her spoon and tasted the mixture, then smiled. "Needs salt," he  
heard her say, and then the mad voices of the wind stole away  
whatever else she might have said.

VVVVV

Delilah shivered in the crisp night air. The Labyrinth was  
always damp and chilly, but this was true cold, something her foggy  
memory associated with being up top. She'd been programmed with  
the knowledge of summer, knew what the sun looked like for the same  
reason, but the former had already ended when she'd stepped out of  
the vat, and the latter had no more meaning than a fairy tale.

The world glittered.

Snow lay dusted over everything in the Park, like frosting on  
a cookie. She'd never seen snow before, not really, and she  
scooped a few flakes into her hand. Not sweet, not salty, they  
melted on her tongue and were gone.

She reminded herself that she was up top on a very important  
mission. Some of the Labyrinth's other children had come up to  
play not long before, and they'd asked if Brentwood could join  
them. The human children had never wanted to play with them  
before, but he'd always wanted to play with them, even more than  
the rest of her brothers. Maybe it was because he was smaller than  
them. Maggie wanted to see him, now, though, and she'd sent 'Lilah  
to fetch him.

Brent had wanted to play with the other kids for a long time. 'Lilah had  
wanted to go outside for a long time. Since those were  
two long times, she didn't hurry to find him. Things up here were  
so pretty! She had dared other, more secret trips to the Park, as  
her heart had hammered in her chest that she was going to be  
caught, by a human or by a Mutate, and she would be in trouble  
either way. She had never stayed more than a few minutes. Now she  
had permission to be out here, and she wanted to enjoy every  
minute.

In the unchanging light of the Labyrinth, time passed in two  
ways: when she was stone and when she wasn't. Several nights had  
passed since the last party. Her fears of the party to come, the  
kindling, as Hudson called it, were fading. Maybe if she didn't  
think about it, it would never happen. Her tummy twisted and  
released. She gasped and grabbed her belly, then glared at the  
bulge.

"You be good!" she whispered. Her voice was muffled by the  
powdery snow.

"Lookit, Dad!" A child's voice, unfamiliar, came from very  
near. Terrified, 'Lilah fled into a shadow, and stayed there,  
panting. "Aw," said the child. "They melted."

She heard a laugh, low and rumbling. "They do that." A  
pause. "There, do you see?" His voice was deep and comforting,  
like Talon's.

"Those two look kinda alike."

"But not exactly." She guessed the voices to be far enough  
away to be safe. She peeked out of her hiding place, wings drawn  
in so tight that she was almost choking.

Not far from where she hid, another two figures walked in the  
spidery shadows cast by streetlights and the naked trees on the  
snow. The larger, the father she guessed, was cloaked in deep  
brown. The child wore layers of clothes like the humans in the  
Labyrinth, and had a warm-looking knitted cap on his head. They  
were both watching snowflakes on the boy's mitten. Neither of them  
looked her way.

"Look!" said the boy, breath puffing in the cold. "See?  
Toldja there could be twins."

His father peered. "Close, but not quite." His cloak moved  
aside, revealing for a moment ... She wasn't sure what she thought  
she saw, but compared to some of what she'd seen during her short  
life, it wasn't high on the list of weird things. She turned and  
took a different path towards where the kids said they'd be.

She heard the kids a good space away. They were louder than  
they ought to be. Someone might hear them and come looking and  
find Brent. That would be bad.

The playground came into view, and she froze. The kids had  
taken the swings down from over the tops, and two were swinging,  
laughing loudly. The rest were gathered around a spinning thing  
with bars to hold onto; she'd seen one like it once in a picture  
book. Brent was in the center of the thing, holding on for dear  
life as it spun faster and faster. He had white splotches all over  
him; as she watched open-mouthed, one of the kids threw another  
snowball at him. He ducked, but it hit him anyway.

"Stop it!" she shouted, not caring who heard her. Her eyes  
blazed white. With satisfaction, she watched the kids scurry away  
from the spinning thing. Without their influence, it started  
slowing down. 'Lilah ran to it and slowed it with one hand.

Brent, red eyes wide and scared, crept off it, legs shaky. As  
he took a step, he fell into the muddy slush made by the kids'  
feet. From a safe distance, some of them snickered. Others held  
hands over their mouths to stop the laughs. She growled at them.

A _**thud**_ hit the back of her head, and cold wetness slid down  
her back. "Freak!" shouted the pitcher. Brent got to his feet and  
wiped himself off with his hands. She judged the distance between  
them and the kid, knew she wouldn't reach him before he'd dashed  
out of sight, not as fat as she was.

"C'mon, Brent," she said, tears stinging her eyes and throat.  
"Maggie wants to see you."

"But ... "

"They're just stupid kids," she said loudly, and grabbed his  
hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Then he looked at the children. She'd known him all  
her life, and only once had she ever seen such pain on his face.

Another snowball whizzed by her ear. She spun and roared,  
noting the fear on the faces of their tormentors. Brent's eyes  
went bright red, and before she could stop him, he went after the  
kid who'd thrown the snowball. Just as she'd thought, the kid and  
his friends were far enough away to be gone by the time Brent  
reached the place they'd been.

Brent stood there, shaking in anger.

"C'mon," she called to him again. The snow melted in her  
hair, making her cold. "We oughta go."

He took her hand. They made their silent way back to the  
opening, back to the Labyrinth. The snow which had been so cheery  
now just froze her feet and tail. Neither spoke during their long  
way back to the chamber where Maggie waited.

Her bright face turned to one of concern when they arrived.  
"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said 'Lilah, before Brent could say a word.

VVVVV

With the rare gift she had for these things, Elisa honed in on  
a parking spot a block from the Amsterdam Caf‚, and slipped the  
Fairlane into it before anyone else. She shut off the ignition,  
listened worriedly as it muttered for a few more seconds before  
dying, and reminded herself to take it to the shop for a tuneup.

As she got out, she rested her hand on the roof, feeling the  
still-sleek metal. Restoring the old car had been a months-long  
restoration project about ten years back for her father and  
brother. The thing had resided under a blue tarp in the backyard,  
and every weekend, the two Maza males had gone out to tinker with  
the engine, the body, and the rest. She'd spent some time helping  
them, but there had been an underlying current of father-son  
bonding being interrupted, so those times had not been often. On  
her eighteenth birthday, she'd gone outside and found the car  
completely refinished, with a large red bow stuck to the top. All  
those months, and she'd never even realized.

The restaurant was already getting crowded. She spotted her  
mother sitting outside and waved, then made her way to the table.

"Hi Mom," she said, placing a comfortable kiss on the woman's  
cheek. "You're early."

"The meeting let out early. I can't wait until classes begin  
again. Faculty meetings are duller than dirt."

Elisa opened her menu, already knowing what she would probably  
order. She'd been here once or twice before to meet Mom. The caf‚  
was close enough to the university for her mother to walk, but she  
always had to fight midtown traffic. She considered the night she  
had ahead of her, then ordered the chicken sandwich platter. Diane  
ordered a salad.

"Have to keep my girlish figure, you know," she said, and Elisa made  
an exaggerated look up and down of her.

"You know, when I mention you to my friends, the word 'girlish' is  
always the first one to pop into mind."

"Just wait until you have three children. Then we'll see who's teasing  
whom."

Elisa bit her lip. "Yeah, just wait."

Mom's face flooded with concern. "Elisa, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm happy. I'm lucky, too. Angela's already one  
of my best friends, and I didn't need to go through those awkward  
teenage years with her." She played with her napkin, thinking  
uncomfortably of her other quasi-daughter.

Was there a way to explain to her mother the unease she'd been  
feeling around Delilah more and more? She knew why, hated herself  
a little for it, but the fact was that the clone had her face and  
her voice, and was going to have a baby any day. Elisa knew the  
circumstances too well, knew how old 'Lilah was mentally, knew  
there was no way in several hells that she'd been mature enough to  
consent to _anything_, knew there was more than a good chance that  
the egg, if egg it was, would never hatch because of 'Lilah's  
genetic makeup. She knew all this, and still she found herself  
watching the girl with envy, and that wasn't healthy for either of  
them.

"Have you heard anything from her?"

No, because I've been avoiding ... Oh, Angela. She shook her  
head. "Not since she left. It's only been six weeks. Where she  
is, that's," she did the math, "not even two days."

"How long will she be gone, do you think?"

"No idea. Owen said Katharine is dying. That could mean  
weeks, or even months. Angela's going to want to stay until she  
does." She took a sip from her water glass. "Demona can wish, and  
I can pretend, but Katharine is her Mom." She reached over the  
table, took her mother's hand. Diane placed her other hand on top.  
"Talk to me, Mom. Why did you want to have dinner here? We could  
have done this at home."

"I like it here. Besides, I wanted a chance to talk with you.  
We don't do this often enough."

"And I'm the only one you _can_ talk with here," she said.

"There's that." The waitress brought their food. Elisa dug  
into her sandwich with vigor, discovering to her surprise that she  
was ravenous. Her mother went at her salad with less gusto,  
picking at the lettuce with her fork before finally taking a bite.  
"Elisa ... " She paused, stared at her for a long moment, then  
changed her tone. "How's Goliath?"

_Wonderful,_ she thought. _Amazing, incredible, warm, exciting,  
perfect,_ she thought. "Fine," she said. "I guess. He misses  
Angela. We all do. Why?"

"It's been a while since I've seen him."

"Two weeks."

"That's long enough. I mean, he _is_ family now, and while I  
understand he can't exactly drop by for Sunday dinner, he's  
certainly welcome." The words came out in a flood; Elisa washed  
along with them, then paddled back madly.

_Family?_ "Mom ... "

Diane suddenly found her salad very interesting, and attacked  
it voraciously. Elisa sighed.

"What is it, Mom?" she asked as her mother took a bite of  
tomato.

"Elisa," she began hesitantly, "I don't know how to put this  
right. I know how important it is to you, and how satisfied you've  
been, but ... " Elisa felt a blush creeping to her ears. Was it  
that obvious? It wasn't like they'd ... She missed her mother's  
next words, was certain she'd misheard.

"Huh?" she managed.

Diane looked away, down, anywhere but her face. "I knew you  
wouldn't consider it. The force is too important to you."

An image of Alec Guinness popped into her head.

"Mom, I'm really confused right now." Mom patted her hand.

"I know, dear. I was confused, too, when I was your age.  
Should I go into teaching? Should I stay home with you and your  
brother? You've spent enough years as a cop. You have a  
psychology degree, dear. You could go on for your Master's, your  
Doctorate, even teach here or at Barnard. I think you'd enjoy the  
challenge." Her eyes were bright with hope.

"You want me to leave the force?" She sat back, staring at  
her mother dumbfounded. This had not been what she'd expected to  
hear.

"I know, I know, you love it." There was defeat in her mother's voice,  
and grief. Elisa suspected she knew the cause.

"This is about Andy, isn't it?"

Andy had been her country cousin, the only son of Grandpa  
Darren's youngest brother. He'd been born and raised in a small  
town in Pennsylvania, and had eventually become the sheriff. She  
remembered infrequent trips to his house at holidays, how he always  
touted the benefits to small town life over the myriad dangers of  
the big city.

In the summer, he and his wife had been brutally murdered in their safe,  
small-town home. It _could_ have been a racial incident, but from  
what they'd been able to glean, it had been associated with a case he'd  
been working on at the time of his death. Mom hadn't spoken much of  
it since, but now the truth, and the grief, were clear in her eyes.

"I don't want to lose you," she said softly.

"You're not going to lose me, Mom. I'm not going anywhere."

"You live dangerously, Elisa. It was bad enough," her breath  
caught. "It was bad enough knowing every day when your father went  
to work that he might never come home. Then you decided you wanted  
to be a cop, and then _Derek_ decided the same thing, and then I  
had to worry three times as much every single day."

"I love my job, Mom." Sometimes it was hard, sometimes  
dangerous, and sometimes just wearying, when perps were back out on  
the street within hours. But it was who she was.

"I know."

Elisa glanced at her watch. "Damn. And speaking of the job  
I love, I'm gonna be late." She finished the last bite of her  
sandwich, looked longingly at the fries, and waved at the waitress.

"I'll get dinner. You get to work."

"Thanks, Mom," she said, and gave her another kiss on the cheek. "I'll  
see you on Sunday. And I promise to be careful."

"Yes, dear." She didn't sound convinced, but Elisa didn't have time to  
comfort her further. She scooted off towards the entrance, and did not  
hear her mother's following:

"Dear! You have ... Oh never mind."

VVVVV


	2. Chapter 2

VVVVV  
Consequences Part Three: Cat and Cradle (2/3)  
a Gargoyles story  
by Merlin Missy  
Copyright 1998, 2005  
PG-13  
VVVVV

Downtown traffic was horrendous. Her usual parking place was  
taken, so she had to settle for a spot three blocks away. Swearing  
slightly, she ran in as dignified a fashion as she could to the precinct  
house. She dropped her jacket at her desk, and almost didn't notice the  
roses.

She stopped. Yep, they were still there. She picked up the bouquet and  
sniffed at them, then read the card: "For: Elisa Maza.  
From: You Know Who."

The grin inside would not be contained, and blossomed on her  
face. She couldn't recall the last time anyone had sent her  
flowers.

"Ow!" Her hand went to her mouth. Had she caught it on a  
thorn? No, the pin affixing the card was at a bad angle. She set  
the bouquet down awkwardly, grimacing as she smeared blood on the  
tissue paper. No time for romance, now.

She hurried to Captain Chavez's office, carefully opening the  
door. Everyone else was already there, of course, and stared at  
her as she entered. _I'm not **that** late_, she thought, and moved to  
stand beside the seat Matt had grabbed.

"Nice of you to join us," said the Captain. "Now, as I was  
saying ... "

The Captain had instituted biweekly meetings for all the  
detectives on their shift, to compare cases and try to see if any  
correlations existed that might have escaped cops working on  
seemingly separate crimes. She and Matt had just wrapped up a  
string of catburglaries, and hadn't started a new case yet. She  
found her attention drifting back to the flowers on her desk and  
the conversation with her mother. Both seemed out of place.

Several times during the hour, she noticed some of the others  
giving her strange looks, then finding other things to watch. It  
started to get annoying. She'd have to let Goliath know that,  
although the thought was appreciated, work wasn't the best place  
for sending presents. When the meeting ended, Morgan and Tan  
corralled her, asking who'd sent the flowers. She dodged the  
question, barely, and slipped out of Chavez's office before they  
could try to pry anything further.

The flowers were no longer on her desk.

Matt sat at his own desk, innocent as a new babe. _**click  
**__click_ _click_ _click_ "All right, Bluestone. Hand 'em over,"  
she said in her best movie-cop voice.

"Hand what over? I thought you hid them." **_click_ _click_  
_click_** "Damn."

"I should have. Are you playing Minesweeper again?"

**_click_** "Um. Yeah." **_click_ _click_** "Damn." He looked away  
from the screen. "What? It clears my mind. You meditate, I save  
the world from mines."

"Computer Zen," she teased as she checked her desk, inside and  
out. No flowers. "That's weird. Well, now maybe everyone'll stop  
staring."

"I doubt that," said her partner, a smirk on his face.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Nothing." His boyish face could no longer resist the smile.  
"Um ... Partner?" He tapped just beside his own Adam's Apple.  
"You've got ... um ... Just go look in the mirror, okay?"

Elisa clapped a hand over her neck, scowled at her partner, and headed  
towards the women's locker room. She went to a mirror above one of  
the sinks. As she moved her hand, she saw the large purplish bruise  
and groaned. For the moment, she forgot about the flowers entirely.

VVVVV

Fox opened her eyes. The clock on her side of the bed read  
4:15 in light green, unobtrusive numerals. Four minutes had passed  
since the last time she'd checked. She rolled over. David was  
half-sprawled beside her, mouth buried in his pillow. His long  
hair, free from its customary elastic, lay askew around his head,  
with one lock wrapped around his neck. He was quite soundly  
asleep. Unable to do the same, she watched his eyes dart beneath  
his lids, always moving, always seeking, even in his dreams.

Restlessness drove her from their bed. She grabbed her robe  
and slipped noiselessly out of their room. The flagstones were  
cold on her feet. She considered going back for her slippers, then  
decided that David needed his sleep. She did, as well, but lately,  
she'd been having trouble. It was the same problem she'd had  
before Alex's birth, only this time she was not the pregnant one,  
and there were no dreams of Katharine.

Hyena's C-section was scheduled for the first of February, over two  
weeks away. The doctors could possibly have performed it earlier, but  
since there was zero chance of the kid being breast-fed, the decision  
had been to delay the birth as long as was feasible. So far, she hadn't  
gone into labor naturally, a good thing all around.

Fox wandered into Alexander's room. He lay on his back  
asleep, the covers kicked off haphazardly. She pulled them up over  
his legs. He breathed, but didn't stir.

He was such a pretty baby. His little red curls framed his wide face.  
His lips made a slightly quivering pucker, as if he were eating in his  
sleep. She wondered what his dreams were like. Were they of  
multi-coloured toys? Days in the sunshine? Changing his shape?  
Suckling from a giant breast? Whatever his dreams, there was an aura  
around him of peacefulness. Was that part of his glamour, or was it just  
because he was a baby?

"I love you, sweetie," she said. She reached in and brushed his temple  
with her finger. He twitched.

Goliath had risked his life and that of the other gargoyles to let him stay  
with his family. The same had to hold true for the unborn child for  
whom she was taking responsibility. A child needed his family, no  
matter who that family was. Wasn't that what Goliath had said to  
Oberon? Wasn't that why she had her son here tonight? It had to be the  
truth.

Then why, when she lay down to sleep each night, did she see a dark,  
smoke-smelling apartment, and wonder if she was doing the right  
thing?

VVVVV

Elisa took the elevator up from the Eyrie's private parking  
lot, pacing in the car as she did. She was running later than  
she'd anticipated; as she'd pulled into the lot, the cold sky had  
already been laced with cotton candy clouds.

She passed by the living room, in case the guys were catching  
the end of the So Late It's Early Show. The television was on, but  
the gargoyles were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Fox lay curled on  
her side on the couch, fast asleep. Elisa did not particularly  
want to know why. The private lives of the Xanatos family, unless  
they directly affected those of the clan, held little interest for  
her. Typically.

Two nights before, she'd overheard Xanatos making baby-noises  
at his son. More than once, when she had been over and Alex had  
been with the clan, Fox had come into the room and picked him up,  
and for a moment, just a moment, had let slip her careful veneer of  
confidence and had become a real person. That seriously damaged  
the comfortable mental image Elisa had formed of the two of them.

She found Goliath on the tower, as she'd suspected she might.

"Hey," she said to his back.

"Good morning," he replied. "How was work?"

"Quiet. I don't care what anyone else says, since you guys  
came to town, the scum has been a lot less likely to surface."

"Tonight was also quiet for us. Perhaps the cold has sent the  
criminals to bed early." He smiled as he turned. His sense of  
humor, such as it was, improved little by little ever night.

"Have you been to the Labyrinth lately?" she asked out of the  
blue.

"I have not. Broadway was there tonight, guarding Fang. He  
returned only a few minutes ago. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Oh, before I forget ... " She tugged at her shirt collar,  
giving him a good view of her neck. "We humans bruise easily."

He flushed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She took his hand into both of hers, rubbed it against her  
cheek contentedly. "We just need to be a little more careful. Matt's  
been razzing me all night about it. The flowers didn't help, either." She  
smiled shyly. "But they were appreciated."

A perplexed look crossed his face, and stayed there as the sun rose a  
second later. She pulled her hand from his stone grip, patted his arm,  
and went down the stairs.

VVVVV

Elisa checked herself in the mirror one more time. The bruise  
had lingered for several days, but it had finally faded from sight.  
No more worrying about covering it with makeup or semi-convenient  
turtlenecks. Matt had teased her about it nonstop for days. On  
the flip side, she was certain everyone at the station thought he'd  
been the one to give it to her, so it all worked out. Damned  
embarrassing, though.

She patted her hair. She'd chosen to wear it up tonight, and  
she couldn't get past the feeling that she looked more and more  
like her mother when she did. Well, maybe not. Mom probably  
wouldn't have opted for the deep rose of her dress, nor the  
generous neckline. She also would probably have avoided the  
spandex that clung to her legs suggestively and stopped well above  
her knee. The earrings that brushed her shoulders had been bought  
for this outfit. Her toes were cramping inside the heels she wore,  
but she had to admit, back problems later or no, they completed her  
ensemble perfectly.

She added a quick touch of little-used perfume to her wrists.

Precisely on time, she heard a tap at her balcony. She smiled  
at her own reflection one more time, and thanked her guardian  
spirits that it was a warm night. They were going to a concert in  
the park tonight, close enough to hear, far enough not to be seen.  
He was probably expecting a sweatshirt and jeans.

She walked out of the bathroom, shut off the light, checked to  
make sure Cagney had food, grabbed her wrap and went to the sliding  
window they used as a door.

Tonight, she decided. Tonight she was going to convince him  
to stay until daybreak.

The expression on his face was exactly what she'd hoped it  
would be.

VVVVV

'Lilah slipped outside. The moon was brighter now than it had  
been her last time outside, bigger. Maggie had tried explaining  
the idea of phases to her, with oranges, but she'd only gotten more  
confused.

The night was a little warmer than she remembered, at least  
she thought so. The snow was gone, leaving short brown stubs of  
grass to prickle her tail behind her. The last time she'd been out  
here, the night had been cloudy, and hid away any stars she might  
have seen. Tonight it was clear, but she wasn't out to see stars.

It was easier to think outside, even though she wasn't  
supposed to be here. Everyone stared at her in the Labyrinth  
anymore, at least at her belly. The egg would be here soon, they  
said. She didn't want a stupid egg. She wanted a baby like Maggie  
was going to have. She tried to summon a picture in her head of a  
baby gargoyle. It would look like her and Thailog, with their  
blue-white hair, and it would be as dark as he was, but with her  
eyes, And she would call it Grover.

The real gargoyles stared when they came to visit. They  
hadn't come to visit in a long time. The only times were when  
someone took a turn guarding Fang, and that wasn't often.

She found her destination: the swings. She had come here  
twice since the kids had brought Brent outside to tease him. It  
was a nice, quiet place in the night where she could be alone. She  
climbed into a swing carefully, poking her tail out the back, and  
pushed herself with her feet. From far away, she heard music, but  
she ignored it. She didn't want to hear music tonight.

Elisa stared.

'Lilah didn't understand why Elisa stared. She'd thought Elisa was her  
friend, but now her friend watched her with the same expression that  
the real gargoyles did, and she didn't like it. The worst part of all was  
...

Her lips trembled. She didn't want to think about this, but here it was.

She knew how she'd come to be. Thailog had programmed her  
with the knowledge, and Maggie and Ruth had explained it in terms  
she could almost understand. Part of Elisa and part of Demona had  
become her, not exactly like but close to the way that a part of  
Goliath and a part of Demona had become Angela. That made Elisa  
and Demona her parents.

Demona had tried to kill her the last time she'd seen her, but  
Elisa had always been nice. Maybe Demona didn't know that she was  
her daughter like Angela was. Maybe if she told her, it would  
change Demona's mind about killing her. Angela hadn't always liked  
her, but she did now, or did before she went back to Avalon.

Elisa didn't like her anymore. She could tell by the way she stared, by  
the way she stayed away. She could stand the real gargoyles staring,  
and she'd gotten used to Malibu doing it now and then, 'cause Boo  
wanted to be a real gargoyle. Elisa was something different.

Hot tears warmed her cheeks, but she did not brush them away.

VVVVV

Beth kept her mouth closed as she yawned, knowing it would  
send her face through weird contortions. She normally didn't mind  
night classes, but she'd discovered that Dr. Tremaine's unique  
lecturing style left her sapped of energy before he'd reached the  
end of his first sentence. Then again, said lecturing style meant  
the end of the first sentence might be twenty minutes into the  
three-hour class. She'd heard from survivors of his classes that  
he only took a breath once an hour; his lung capacity made up for  
the rest.

Blinking her eyes rapidly, she stared down at her notes,  
forcing some sense into them. A few lines were legible, the rest  
scrawled into oblivion, testament to previous times this evening  
when her hold on reality had slipped. It wasn't that the class was  
boring, either. In fact, the subject of this particular lecture  
was very near and dear to her heart. Again, she forced herself  
awake enough to listen.

"Trickster, in this case Crow, although as you'll read this  
week, those of you who do your assignment, many of the same  
attributes will apply to Red Horn, who is also an incipient hero,  
as well as Legba, the Dogon Trickster, and Anansi, Trickster of the  
Hauka tribe, with some remnants in the Greek myths of Hermes, who  
stole Zeus' sheep the day he was born, which brings us back to Crow  
and his sexual appetites, which are both strange and insatiable, as  
they are for all Tricksters; strange in that Crow, as you read this  
past week, often switches gender and even sends his genitalia away  
from his body in order to have sex with unsuspecting young maids,  
demonstrating Trickster's role as a cultural pressure relief, here  
a sexual taboo ... "

A few of her classmates giggled, and Beth herself felt a large  
grin growing on her face. She doubted they were having the same  
mental images she was, but none of them had met a Trickster-god in  
the flesh.

As she had before, she wondered how much of the mythology had  
grown from actual things Coyote and his cousins had done, and how  
much of what they were had come from the myths already saturating  
the cultures they adopted. Dr. Tremaine and her classmates  
operated under the assumption that the religions they studied,  
while held to by a vanishing minority, had no more basis in reality  
than the Easter Bunny. They spoke of cultural and personal need,  
for heroes, for Tricksters, for gods of all shapes and sizes, and  
had reached a level of intellectualism where they believed in none,  
or in a hero-cycle originating in the Middle East. Last week, the  
first night of class, Dr. Tremaine had handed out a page of the  
characteristics of a classic hero myth. According to him, the  
higher a particular figure scored, the more likely it was the  
individual had never really existed. Zeus scored a 19. Robin Hood  
scored a 13. Christ scored 19, and when that was noted, two of the  
class members walked out. Beth had ignored them and kept reading.

King Arthur scored 17. So did Cu Chulainn. She wondered how  
many other people Dr. Tremaine was claiming had never been were  
numbered among her sister's friends. The people had left the class  
because of the implication that none of the heroes on the sheet had  
ever existed. Beth faced a more frightening notion: the prospect  
that they all did.

Dr. Tremaine finished his final sentence. The class awoke  
like a slumbering giant (though she'd learned never to get him  
started on giant myths) and ran for the door.

Outside, the night was clear and crisp. As she walked from  
the lights of Mevis Hall in a loose knot of people, she could see  
the stars growing brighter. Somewhere beneath those stars, the  
fairies were dancing. Not here. She wasn't certain when Coyote  
had left Arizona for Avalon, only knew that the Gathering had come  
when Elisa had called the first time from her apartment to let her  
know the long journey had ended.

Beth hadn't heard him howling across the desert before his departure,  
nor had a weight lifted from the earth when his tread no longer touched  
it. She knew he was gone now because the night was emptier, the stars  
not as playful. Gods had walked this land, and if they had been but  
Oberon's Children in masks, who was she to say they were more or less  
real than a carpenter who would have been king?

So caught up was she in thoughts spiritual that she did not see the  
black-clad figure until the voice spoke to her from what first appeared  
to be utter darkness:

"Hi, Beth." She stopped, oblivious to the rest of the group,  
who continued to walk back towards the safety of light and home.

_Coyote,_ her mind provided, and she was in that instant a young  
maid encountering a childish spirit who was also the oldest of gods.  
Then her eyes focused.

"Sarah." The surprise mingled with disappointment before she  
could stop it, and she read the instant pain on the face of someone  
who'd once been her closest friend.

"Who were you expecting?" Not teasing, not playful, just inquisitive,  
and incredibly sad.

"Coyote the Trickster," she replied. Sarah rolled her cinnamon eyes.  
"What's up?"

"I wanted to see you."

"I thought you didn't want to see me ever again." It sounded  
more accusational than she'd intended.

"I needed some time." She turned and began walking. After a  
moment, Beth followed her. Their paces caught and matched as they  
walked.

Beth said, "Sarah, listen. There are some things ... "

Sarah held up a hand. "Don't. You have secrets. I know  
that. I'm sorry if I tried to get them out of you before you were  
ready."

"I was ready, but they weren't mine to tell. They still  
aren't."

"I can accept that."

She could accept ... Her arms trembled from the cold, from  
the words. She kept her teeth from chattering as she asked, "What  
do you mean?"

"I mean, I haven't been able to do anything for months but think of you.  
I went home over the holiday, and spent every damn minute thinking of  
things I should have said to you, seeing things I wanted to show you."  
She stopped, and Beth saw the rarest tears running down her face. "I  
miss you. You're my best friend, and ... " Her shoulders shook.

Beth set her satchel on the ground, and wrapped her arms around  
Sarah's neck. "I've missed you, too," she said, not yet crying, knowing  
the tears would come soon enough.

"I'm not asking for things to go back to the way they were. I just want  
to spend time with you again."

"I'd like that."

Sarah smiled through the tears on her cheeks. Beth's heart warmed, and  
her thoughts turned far away from gods.

"I was afraid," Sarah said. "I was afraid you'd hate me until May, and  
then graduate, and then leave, and I'd never see you again."

"No such luck. I'm applying for grad school here. I'll be here for a  
good long time."

As she said it, she knew she meant it. Mom would have to deal  
with her youngest chick being away for a longer time, maybe for  
good. She was where she belonged, with people she liked, and the  
woman she loved. Manhattan was a distant crystal dream, with no  
more solidity for her than Avalon. This was what was real, had  
been real forever.

As they walked back towards her home, slower this time, Beth  
swore she could hear a howl from far away, and although she knew in  
her soul it was not Coyote, she smiled anyway.

VVVVV

Demona unwrapped the parchment with a gentleness that would  
have surprised an outsider, or even an old friend. The vellum on  
which it had been written had been taken from a sheep who'd grazed  
in the verdant pastures outside a small village named Lud, which in  
time had become a somewhat larger village called London. Needless  
to say, it was before her time by a good thousand years and she had  
spent the fifty-four years since its acquisition being careful not  
to damage it.

She had no idea what the original words written on the paper  
had been. The traces she could see below the Latin were faint and  
bore little resemblance to any alphabet she knew. Someone, most  
likely a sorcerer in desperate need of writing paper, or a practitioner of  
the Old Religion caught in a strange new age of monotheism and  
persecution of the supernaturally gifted, had half- eradicated the old  
words and scribbled a brief Latin spell atop them. When she'd first  
found the paper, amid the ruins of a museum after a bombing, she'd had  
a split second of vision: a human male, not old but ancient in the way  
only the loss of friends and family could bring age, hurriedly setting to  
paper spells that would otherwise have been lost with his impending  
death.

No matter what the first spell had been; the second, more  
readable one held the magic she required for this evening's working  
beneath the full January moon. She scanned the words, then set the  
paper where she could easily access it when the time came.

She required no talismans tonight, but the herbs she needed  
had raised the eyebrows of more than one gardener in her employ.  
She'd hired gardeners, architects, built an elaborate greenhouse,  
and given the strictest of instructions for the care and feeding of  
the precious flora she planted there. Many a gibbous moon had seen  
her on her knees, running her fingers through rich black dirt,  
coaxing seed pods open with her talons, making sacrifices of  
songbirds as both offering and the richest of fertilizer. All her  
work, and the sweat of her human drones, weeding and pollinating  
and asking no questions, had created for her a garden whose fruits  
were by turns succulent, magical, intoxicating and/or illegal in  
the state of New York.

She took a handful of dried leaves, whose close cousins had  
once been used by native tribes on the Great Plains to instill  
prophecies. The fire sparkled as she threw the leaves into it,  
being careful not to breathe the smoke. That was for later.

The second ingredient was bark from a flowering shrub, one  
thought by most horticulturalists to have been extinct for the past  
ninety years. Demona was not a horticulturalist, but _had_ been  
aware of the encroachment of the rapine humans into the sacred  
places where it had once grown wild, had saved a few specimens of  
this particular bush. The blossoms, while having no particular  
magical value of their own, resembled lilacs, but with an  
enchanting scent that made ordinary flowers smell like toxic waste  
in comparison. She peeled bits of the bark, placed them into a  
silver bowl of water, while breathing hotly on the surface. She  
stirred the water with her finger in three sharp swirls, then  
sprinkled salt over it.

She held the bowl above her head, and chanted the first half  
of the spell: "Iae Jesu Domine!"

She poured the bowl's contents onto the fire. Angry at the  
sudden cold wetness, the fire sputtered its protest and died in a  
cloud of aromatic steam. She breathed deeply. Nauseated, she  
placed a hand to her forehead, steadying and centering herself.  
The sickness passed.

Now for the final part. She took the vial, the few drops of  
rich red liquid within rolling back and forth as she twirled the  
container. Here was the time of truth. If it was Elisa's, the  
woman would come to her, unable to resist the call of her own  
blood. It was possible that her brother, even her parents would  
come as well. Demona had her particle beam weapon ready in case of  
unwanted company. There could be no mistakes made after this  
point.

Demona opened the vial and dripped the precious drops over the  
smouldering pile. "Doniae ys requiem!"

The ashes glowed with a blue-green tint, pulsating sickly like  
gangrene. She dared not breathe the smoke now, lest it consume  
her.

Blood called to blood. She heard the siren call from the  
ashes, demanding their lady's return to them, sending out their  
scent through the Park, above the trees and the skyscrapers,  
calling Elisa to her.

"Blood return to blood!" she hissed.

Yes, she would come, and when she touched the ash, Demona  
would steal her wretched face and form. It would last only the  
night, long enough to steal into the castle, find Goliath and  
Angela, strike down the one in front of the other. The fool would  
probably not even raise a talon in protest.

She heard a sound in the bushes, the sound of gargoyle feet  
making their way nearer. Yes! Summoned by the spell, that  
detestable human was coming to her, and much sooner than she had  
anticipated. She placed a victorious smile on her face as she  
turned to the darkness and whispered, "Come to me."

"Yes, Mother," said Elisa Maza's voice.

VVVVV

As ears went, Elisa's were rather tasty.

They had returned to her apartment after the concert, which  
was fine by Goliath. He hadn't heard a note of music the entire  
night. He'd been hyper-aware of Elisa's appearance, of her scent,  
of her voice and of her. Every touch against him had sent shudders  
down his spine to the tip of his tail. When she'd casually  
suggested they go back to her place, he'd been unable to deny her  
any request.

Using only the tips of his teeth, Goliath bit down on the outer curl of  
her right ear and felt a responding quiver from Elisa. Feeling bolder, he  
slid his tongue out from between his lips and traced the edges, down to  
the tender lobe, which he kissed.

The phone rang. "Damn!" she swore, and dashed up to answer it.

"No, I hadn't checked my messages yet. I just got back. At a concert.  
Guess. Yes." She looked back. "Beth says hello."

"Hello, Beth."

"He says hi. Really? That's great!" Her voice was warm. "I'm glad to  
hear that. Did you tell her? When you do, let me know. I'll tell  
Brooklyn. Yeah, I think he knows. Look, I really can't talk right now.  
Stop it. Yeah, yeah, tomorrow. Bye, sis."

She placed herself beside him on the couch. "Now, where were  
we?"

He could not stop a smile. She was pressed up against him,  
eyes bright and eager, and she looked like a hatchling getting  
ready to play. And perhaps she was.

"Here." He placed his lips at her ear again. She made a  
happy noise in her throat. Boldly, he moved his head down to her  
neck and kissed her there, breathing in the aroma of her.

Elisa jerked harder this time, and pulled away from him,  
sitting forward on the couch. He drew back quickly. Too much, too  
fast, he cursed himself. She was so fragile, this one; he could  
damage her with the intensity of his heart, never mind the rest of  
him.

"Elisa, I'm sorry."

She looked at him blankly and stood up. He got to his feet,  
a violet blush burning his cheeks. "I'll go," he said quietly.

"Go?" Again, the blank look, and she was more distant than  
he'd ever seen her. "Yes, go." It took him several seconds for  
the realization to hit that she wasn't talking to him.

That came when she started putting on her jacket, ignoring him  
completely.

"Elisa?" What was going on? Did she want him to leave? He  
grasped her hands. "Please. Tell me what's wrong." She pulled a  
pair of slippers from beneath the couch and placed them on her feet.

"Wrong. Nothing." She pulled away from him again and  
zippered her jacket. Tried to zipper her jacket. The teeth didn't  
catch, and she gave up, going to the door with it left open. She  
flicked off the light, shut the door behind him, left him alone in  
darkness and confusion.

VVVVV


	3. Chapter 3

VVVVV  
Consequences Part Three: Cat and Cradle (3/3)  
a Gargoyles story  
by Merlin Missy  
Copyright 1998, 2005  
PG-13  
VVVVV

"You!" The contempt in Demona's voice, the hatred, slapped Delilah  
across the face. There was no love calling, no tiny affection, only very  
bitter, very focused rage. On her.

'Lilah shrank back, feeling her blood calling her to stay, knowing too  
late that staying would be very bad. She half-fell into the shrubs,  
turned to flee.

A pale blue hand clamped down on her wing membrane and held.  
She squealed from pain, tried to free herself. The hand was relentless,  
dragging her back inside the circle with the numbing agony  
concentrated at one point on her sensitive skin.

"Thailog's little whore."

"No," she said. "I am yours," she said as boldly as she could. "I am of  
you."

"You are nothing but a mockery of me with the face of a human  
beast." Demona's eyes traveled down her body. 'Lilah shuddered.  
It was like when Thailog had placed his hands on her in the Game,  
making her feel all sticky everywhere even when she'd just bathed.

"You carry his egg!" 'Lilah nodded unhappily. "So. Even  
dead, his legacy lives on. She scowled. "I should destroy you  
now, make sure his seed does not foul our race any further." Then  
a cruel smile slid over her face. "But then again, it _will_ be a  
gargoyle, even with your human contamination. I could raise this  
one right, make sure it knows the crimes of humanity against our  
kind."

Raise. Demona raise? Delilah again pictured her baby, this  
time in Demona's arms. "No!" she shouted, and pulled hard enough  
to free herself. Her left arm protected her stomach, as her eyes  
went white. "Mine!"

Instead of attacking, instead of shouting, or grabbing, instead of  
anything 'Lilah expected, Demona started to laugh. "Foolish little girl.  
You don't have a choice in the matter. Taking your form would be  
useless; it's Elisa I wanted. But your child could be very useful to me.  
Therefore, rather than gutting you, as I probably should, I'll just blow  
your ugly human head off. Your egg should still be viable."

Suddenly, there was a mean-looking weapon in Demona's hand,  
pointed right at her face.

"Mother, please!" It wasn't supposed to be like this. Her mother was  
supposed to love her, be nice to her.

"Don't call me that. You're not my child. You're an abomination to  
everything that we are. You're not a gargoyle. You're a freak that  
Thailog created for his own sick amusement. But I can fix that. Join  
your master, slut."

Like an angered god, she heard Thailog's roar, and fell to her  
knees on instinct. A blast from the gun grazed the top of her  
head, singeing her scalp, and she rolled on her back as a solid  
shape appeared from the night sky and fell on Demona in attack.

_Master!_ her heart cried out. _You've come back!_

Drawn by his presence, renewed by his renewal, she rose to her  
feet and moved towards the two grappling combatants.

"Let me go!" screamed Demona, hissing and roaring. "She  
deserves death!"

"No!" came her master's voice. "The only one who has committed any  
crime here is you." Demona freed her hand with the gun, swung it at  
him. Instinct moved Delilah faster than thought, and she whipped her  
tail out, knocking the gun far from Demona's hand. The other female's  
eyes blazed again.

"Demona stop this!" 'Lilah saw him clearly now, and her heart fell. It  
was not her master, only Goliath. Defeated, trembling, she sank back to  
the ground as the former lovers before her continued their brawl.

Demona slammed her palm into Goliath's face, driving him  
backwards. "I'd intended to kill you tonight anyway," she growled.  
"You haven't changed my plans."

"We'll see." He swatted at her hard, sending her flying against a tree.  
She screamed and attacked again.

There was a hand on her shoulder. "'Lilah, are you okay?" She looked  
up into Elisa's concerned, and kind of dazed, face.

"No," she said simply, and went back to watching Goliath.

He forced Demona's head against the ground, and she saw Elisa.  
"It did work!" There was absurd triumph in her voice, and with a  
heave, she kicked Goliath off her like a sheet, was on her feet  
advancing towards Elisa in moments. "Come here, human. I'd prefer  
doing this with your face anyway." She reached out her hand, as she  
said, "Angela will see what treacherous creatures humans can be."

Elisa backed away quickly. "'Lilah, run! Go get Talon!" She ducked  
to the side, away from where Delilah still sat. "Go!" Her tight skirt  
made it difficult to step back, but somehow she managed.

'Lilah pulled her feet under her and pushed up unsteadily. Her body  
mass shifted, the egg skewing her judgment of up, down and side. She  
steadied herself against a tree, then saw Goliath slowly getting up from  
where he'd been thrown. He looked hurt.

Forgetting Elisa's instructions, she hurried to his side and helped him  
up. "Goliath?"

"I'm fine." His eyes locked onto Demona, blazed like white stars when  
he saw her stalking Elisa. She pounced. He moved like lightning and  
grabbed her tail. They both went down again, Elisa just beyond them.  
Her human mother flew at her gargoyle mother with her fists. Delilah  
crossed her arms over her body, feeling tears about to come. She was  
very very scared.

"Stop it!" she cried. "Please!" Neither heard her. It was like the  
amusement park, only the fires were inside this time, eating her alive.  
Her mothers were fighting, and one of them was going to die. "Please,"  
she squeaked.

Then she saw the gun. It had landed at the far side of the clearing. She  
wasn't sure how to use it, but that was okay. Guns meant power,  
Thailog had always said so, and it had to be true. She fell to the ground  
beside it, wrapped her hand around the small handle. Definitely not  
like the ones she'd been taught to use, but it would have to do.

"Stop!" she shouted as loudly as she could, and pointed the gun at  
Demona.

Everyone froze.

Goliath held Demona down, panting. Elisa stood beside them, ready  
for whatever happened next. She held out her hand. "Give that to me,  
'Lilah."

"No." Goliath's head turned. So did Demona's. "Get off her,  
Goliath."

"Delilah ... "

"Get off her. Please." He turned back to her. Demona growled, until  
Delilah put the barrel closer to her face. Goliath extricated himself  
from his once-lover, but remained beside her.

'Lilah continued to point the gun at Demona. "You want Angela  
to think humans are bad. Humans aren't bad."

"Humans are a scourge on the face of this planet. Angela must be made  
to see that."

"No," she said. "And she won't anyway. Angela went away."

"What? Where!"

"Where your poison cannot touch her," said Goliath.

"She went home," said 'Lilah. Then she waved the gun. Elisa  
ducked. "You go home. And stay away. We know what you can do.  
You don't need to do it. Humans aren't bad."

"Ugly and stupid," said Demona.

"I am not ugly," said 'Lilah carefully. "I look like my mothers. And  
they are both beautiful." She waved the gun again, then pointed it at  
Demona. "Go."

"I won't forget this, you little freak of science. I'll have you again, and  
no one will save you." She turned to Elisa. "That goes double for you."  
She swiped at Elisa.

'Lilah fired, missed by a foot and hit a tree three yards behind them.  
Demona grabbed Elisa, thrust her into Goliath, jumped into a tree, and  
gained just enough height to glide above them. 'Lilah aimed the gun  
again, but her hands shook too much, and by the time she got it aimed,  
Demona was too far away.

She pulled the gun against herself, played with the barrel, shook  
violently. Elisa was the first to reach her, and coaxed the laser weapon  
away from her. That made 'Lilah shake even worse.

Goliath came closer. The same old look, of fear and something else,  
was back on his face, but also gratitude. Elisa slipped her arms around  
'Lilah's shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, then burst into tears.

Goliath rubbed his shoulder. 'Lilah saw nasty red scratches there, and  
cried more. "Let's take her home," he said.

VVVVV

_You failed. Imagine that._

"Shut up," Demona said.

_They'll tell Angela, and she'll hate you even more. Why don't  
you end it now?_

"Shut up!"

She trembled in rage. Her tail lashed out into a table, sent her lamp  
crashed to the floor. It sparked, and the room went dark.

"I can try again."

_That won't do you any good. They know what you can do, and  
they'll guard against it. You'll never get another chance. Go on, find  
Macbeth. You know where to look._ The voice wheedled at her.

"No ... "

She placed her hand at her head, felt a vein throb under her fingers. It  
had seemed like such a good idea. Stupid spell, calling that ... that ...  
_thing_ to distract her.

She went home, the abomination had said.

_That's good. Blame the spell._

Spells ... She'd taken spells from the Grimorum, before Goliath had  
stolen it back. A new thought forming in the depths of her mind, she  
strode from the darkened room into her workshop.

"It was here. How did it go? 'Vocate venti' something." She pushed  
ragged pages onto the floor, uncaring of their contents. The spell she  
needed had to be here somewhere.

The page, edges torn from their hasty removal, passed beneath her  
fingertips. Triumphantly, she picked it up, read it through, read it again  
to make certain.

The Grimorum Arcanorum was a compilation of spells scribed by  
several mages through the centuries. Often, the spells included stories  
and fables associated with their origin and possible use. The story with  
this spell was the tale of a great flood that had covered the world. Only  
two humans had survived, a male and a female, because one of the fay  
had given them the secret words to reach Avalon. Demona didn't  
believe the story, any more than she really believed that the Goddess  
had mated with the Moon and conceived the World, but at least this  
fable included a spell that would probably work.

"Angela's home is Avalon," she told the empty air. Angela had  
told her during those long months of her confinement. She was away  
from New York, away from Goliath's influence. Demona would have  
her ear

_You're not seriously considering going after her._

"Why not?" she muttered.

_And you're going to tell her what?_

"I'll think of something."

VVVVV

Fox unzipped the diaper bag, looked inside, made certain everything  
was in there that ought to be, and zipped it again. She'd  
only done this seven times so far. Maybe she should check it one more  
time ...

"Madame?" Owen tapped at the nursery doorway with his fist.

"Have they arrived?"

"Mrs. Sloane telephoned to say she and Mr. Sloane will not be here  
until the day after tomorrow."

"What! Did she give a reason?"

"Yes." He frowned. "'Something came up.'"

"That's it?"

"That was the message, yes."

"But it's today. We can't postpone the operation any longer. She might  
go into labor for real." Fox had spent far too much time in the past few  
months going over the specifications for Hyena's cybernetic alteration.  
Getting the child out after contractions had started would be a  
nightmare.

"Then do not postpone it."

"It's her daughter," she said. "Mom flew in from Australia to be with  
me for Alex's birth."

"Your mother is hardly a typical woman." His mouth twitched.

"No." She didn't fly in from Australia, did she? She just stepped  
through a portal somewhere and let me think she took a plane. For a  
moment, her thoughts were not on Hyena and the baby.

"If I ask you something, can you answer me as someone who's known  
my mother longer than I have?"

"You may ask," he said, his voice changing slightly. This was  
territory they didn't often cross. Since his recovery, Owen had been  
_extremely_ Owen-like, without a trace of his alter-ego.

"Other than the Three, did she have any other children? I mean, was I  
... just another ... "

"No. Your mother gave birth to four daughters: Luna, Selene,  
Phoebe, and you. I've always considered that evidence of how much  
your father meant to her."

"She loved him," she said, wondering as she had since June if it was the  
truth.

"Of that I have no doubt. She loves you, as well. You were never 'just  
another.' You are her child."

"Oh. Good." She blinked her eyes quickly, then bent over the bag.  
"Alex is with Mrs. Ong. Arkham Asylum wouldn't be a good place to  
bring him."

"No."

"If the Sloanes aren't coming, I guess we should go. T-minus three  
hours until Baby."

"As you wish," he said gravely, and bowed his head until she walked by  
him on her way out the door.

VVVVV

Hyena's head moved up slowly to see her as the door closed and  
locked behind her.

"Hi, sleepyhead."

"Hello," she responded, her eyes a little out of focus.

"How're you feeling?"

A broad, languorous grin teetered on her mouth. "High as a kite." She  
blinked, pulling herself back to as close to reality as she typically came.  
"Where's my baby?"

"Getting weighed and cleaned up. They'll bring her out in a few  
minutes."

"Her?"

"Yeah. Congratulations, Mommy. You have a little girl."

"I wanna see her."

"You will." On cue, the lock clicked on the door, and an orderly  
walked in holding the child carefully. "How is she?"

"Just fine," he replied, bringing her over to her mother.

When she'd caught her first glimpse of Hyena's child, Fox had searched  
her face for signs of her probable lineage, a familiar shape to her nose  
and ears or some hint of mongoloidal features. None were obvious.  
She looked normal, almost cute if red and scrunchy. As she recalled,  
Alex's head had been elongated at birth. Her first conscious thought on  
seeing him had been that it looked a little like a football.

"Can I hold her?" asked Hyena hesitantly.

He held her out, and Hyena clumsily folded her arms to take her child.  
The baby shifted, looked like she might start crying, then settled into  
her mother's metal embrace.

"Hey," she said, her voice cracking. "Hello there." The baby's eyes,  
brown like her mother's, wandered aimlessly. If Fox tried, she could  
see the resemblance.

"Do you have a name picked out?"

"Jasmine. Jasmine Victoria."

Jasmine. "And how many times did we watch 'Aladdin' while we  
were here?"

"I like the name. It's pretty."

"It's ... " She watched her former associate helplessly, and sighed. "It's  
a name. Who do you want put down as her father?" _Here goes  
nothing._

"Nobody. She's _my_ baby." She made a gooey face at her  
daughter. She moved the baby a little, freeing her right hand. The  
orderly tensed, reminding Fox that the staff at Arkham consisted of  
trained guards who also knew the proper treatment and handling of  
lunatics.

Hyena used her free hand to stroke her baby's face, lightly, so as not to  
scratch her by accident. She traced her nose and lips, the outline of her  
ears, then rested her fingertips on top of the downy fuzz at her head.

"Here," she said, suddenly thrusting Jasmine towards Fox. "You take  
her." Fox picked up the bundle, and with a motion made automatic by  
months of Alexander, cradled her gently. Hyena  
continued to stare at the baby, but made no further motion to touch  
her.

"I'll get the paperwork filled out," said the orderly, and walked out,  
locking the door behind him. It was an odd kindness, unexpected.  
Hyena would have a little time alone, almost, with her baby.

"Do you want to try holding her again?"

"No," she said shortly. Still she stared.

As Fox had with Alexander, she began counting Jasmine's fingers, and  
when Hyena said nothing else, moved onto her toes. Ten each. Good  
start. Her eyes hadn't yet focused, probably wouldn't for a while. She'd  
have to get her checked out by Dr. Howard when they got home.

"She's a pretty baby," Fox said, just to make small talk.

"Yeah," came the response and then, "You're good at that."

"Practice," she said, feeling like a liar, and they both fell to their own  
private thoughts. The baby drifted into sleep.

After a while, the doctor came into the room.

"Mrs. Xanatos, I'm afraid you're going to have to step out now. We're  
going to prep Hyena for transport."

"Transport?" She heard Hyena say it a fraction of a second later.

"Yes." He looked apologetic as he said to Hyena, "You're going to be  
moved back to Riker's Island this evening."

"She just had a baby," said Fox. Men could be such idiots. Never mind  
that she'd been toting a laser cannon a few hours after Alexander's birth;  
those had been vastly different circumstances. "You can't move her  
now."

"I have no say in the matter. I'm sorry." He held the door open.

"One more minute," said Fox. She held out the baby to her mother.  
"C'mon. It'll be a long time until you can do this again."

For the second time, Hyena folded her arms, as Fox gave her daughter  
to her. She held her for the space of two breaths, then said, "Fox.  
Please."

Fox picked up the baby again, then saw the misery naked on  
Hyena's face. "What?"

She looked up at Fox, small and scared and hurting from more than the  
fading of anaesthesia. "I can hold her, and I can touch her, but I can't  
feel her." She flexed her metal fingers, staring at them as she'd stared at  
Jasmine. "I can't feel her," she repeated in a barren whisper.

Fox ran her hand over the baby's small face, one hundred moments of  
holding Alex spilling into her mind at once. She placed the child down  
near her mother again.

"What are you doing?"

"This." Gingerly, she moved the baby's head near her face, most of  
which was still flesh. Hyena's eyes went wide. Then she closed them  
as she placed her lips on Jasmine's forehead.

"Oh. Oh, she's soft." The doctor cleared this throat and she pulled  
away. "Thank you," she breathed. Fox nodded, unable to speak.

"Mrs. Xanatos?" Holding Jasmine protectively, she went to the  
door. She turned back, thinking she ought to say something else, make  
them let the other woman stay a little longer. She remembered the cell  
at Riker's, in the heart of the building, with no windows, hardly enough  
room to breathe, guards always watching. Hyena would be going back  
there, and would never see daylight again if the warden had anything to  
say about it. The faceless They would find reasons to keep her locked  
away, just as They were finding reasons to keep Wolf in prison. Fox  
herself would go back to her castle, to her life, hand over the baby to  
Hyena's mother, and that would be that.

The knowledge, and the unfairness of it, glittered in Hyena's eyes,  
coloring the lingering gratitude with shades of silent accusation. The  
words died in Fox's mouth, and she left the room quickly.

VVVVV

The needle slipped out of her grasp. Instead of picking it up  
immediately, Maggie breathed on her fingers to give them a little  
more warmth. When she could feel them, she reached over clumsily  
and grasped her needle again, noting while she was down there that  
her feet were indeed still attached to her body. One month to go,  
by her count, and already she was ready and more than willing to go  
into labor. Anything would be better than this endless wait in  
the cold of the Labyrinth.

The kids, oblivious to the chill, were spread out on the floor, coloring.  
Brent was finishing what looked to be a passable picture of Goliath.  
Banky had gone for ... abstract. Yes, that was a good word for it.

Delilah, having given up on getting the purple back from  
Brentwood, was busy on a green Muppet-like figure. She'd barely  
spoken since her run-in with Demona. Maggie and Derek had been  
stern with her about not going outside anymore, and she'd accepted  
the restriction meekly. Derek had relented enough to allow her out  
again after the egg was laid, which had earned him the largest smile  
'Lilah had granted anyone in weeks.

Maggie wasn't sure what Hollywood and Malibu were drawing,  
only that they had taken one big piece of paper to the other side of the  
room and weren't showing anyone. She herself, for lack of anything  
more constructive to do, was babysitting and making her very first  
quilt.

She'd been collecting scraps of material since the day they'd  
moved into this place. She'd told herself that they would make  
good patches for the clothes they wore, but her little bag of scraps had  
grown into a big bag of scraps, and when she'd read her mother's letter,  
she'd understood why.

The nesting impulse had never been strong in Maggie. While  
she'd often daydreamed about meeting someone kind and handsome,  
and settling down in some nice house, she'd been aware that those were  
no more than dreams. Finding Derek, falling in love with him, and  
everything that had transpired around that love, these had been  
accidents. She had accepted them with as much dignity as she could  
muster, allowing her old daydreams to slip forever from her life  
and be replaced with other dreams, of dark, cold chambers and a  
lover who was not always kind and would never be handsome, but who  
was gentle with her. The old dreams would not be silenced, though.  
They touched at her mind, making her try to find some shape of them  
in her so-different existence.

So she sat, in the weak light of a few kerosene lanterns (and  
oh but how she was coming to hate the smell of kerosene with a  
passion!) doing as she'd seen her mother do, and making a crazy  
quilt for the child she carried.

The radio, the one expenditure of their stolen power that they  
would not easily live without, drifted a popular song through the  
room, and Maggie hummed along with it, neither knowing the lyrics  
nor caring. 'Lilah was singing also, and as she didn't know the words  
either, she made her own up. Maggie somehow doubted the phrase "I  
want to hug Grover" had ever run through Ms. Etheridge's mind as  
she'd recorded her latest cd, but then again ... The song ended.

The DJ's cheery voice said, "And now the news. Hello Dolly!  
Scientists in Scotland announced today the first successful cloning  
of a sheep. The new sheep, Dolly, is genetically identical to her  
'mother,' another sheep named Molly ... "

The clones stood still like the statues they were by day, as Derek  
appeared silhouetted in the doorway. He looked to her and said, "Elisa  
told me Sevarius was in Scotland about a year ago."

"Sheep?" peeped Brent.

"Sheep," asserted Malibu. He turned to Hollywood and poked  
him. "Baa."

"Baa," said Holly back at him.

"Baa," repeated Burbank.

In moments, the room was a chorus of bleats, drowning out the  
radio. 'Lilah was in stitches on the floor. Even Derek was smiling, as  
Claw joined him at doorway, mystified. Maggie giggled.

The DJ continued. Maggie barely heard him above the noise  
from the kids, and shushed them as he said, "And continuing on the  
'Better Living Through Science' thread, two police officers are  
dead, one severely wounded ... "

"Turn that up!" snapped Derek, instantly back to business.

" ... prisoner transport from Arkham Asylum to Riker's Island  
State Penitentiary was brutally attacked by former television star,  
now cyborg and wanted fugitive Jackal. The transport was carrying  
Jackal's sister, convicted felon Hyena, also a cyborg. Police have  
issued a statement that Officer Renee Montoya is in stable condition  
at an area hospital, but have declined to release any further details at  
this time."

Derek winced.

"Do you know her?" Maggie ventured, unsure if she wanted the  
answer.

"We went out a few times," he replied. "She's a good friend."  
Claw patted his shoulder. Maggie slowly got to her feet, something  
more difficult these days. The kids had quieted down, although they  
looked to start laughing again at any time. They didn't understand, and  
that was perhaps for the best right then.

"I'm sure she'll be fine."

"She's not the one I'm worried about. They didn't name the other two  
cops." There was fear in his face, for Elisa, for Matt, for yet more of  
the bad luck that followed him from place to place and life to life.

"Elisa's fine," she said to calm his fears. But she wasn't certain, and he  
knew that, too.

"Ow," said Delilah. Maggie glanced back to the kids, who had  
returned to their coloring.

"Banky, don't step on your sister's tail."

"Didn't step on tail," mumbled Burbank.

She turned her attention to Derek. "Do you want to risk going up top?"  
The names of Xanatos and the Eyrie Building remained unsaid. There  
were a lot of unpleasant memories still attached to both.

"Not unless we hear anything else. I wish I could go by the hospital."

"Ow," said Delilah. "I ... " she clenched her face. "I hurt." Her hands  
moved to her tummy. "Ow," she repeated.

"Ah, damn," said Derek. "Claw, can you please go find Ruth?"  
Claw nodded and disappeared.

Maggie got up from her chair, not an easy task these days, and  
went to the clone. 'Lilah's face was pale and terrified.

"What is happening?" she asked.

"It's going to be all right. Derek, can you ... "

"I'll get the clan."

VVVVV

The mists cleared before her, revealing the mysterious Island. No one  
awaited her on the shore, as Demona pulled her small boat aground.  
Tendrils of magic sought her out, caressing her, seeking her potential,  
then left her again. She shivered with anticipation.

Whatever happened now, she had to keep her story straight. The palace  
wasn't immediately visible, but her feet began moving her in the  
direction of a path through the dark woods.

VVVVV

Brooklyn and Bronx stayed behind to guard the castle while the  
rest of them followed Derek by air, she safe in Goliath's arms.  
Excitement buzzed among them, and hope of things finally coming to  
the good. The first egg in a thousand years, she thought, as the  
streets and then the trees went by below her feet. The survival of  
the clan always rested on the next generation, which was about to  
become a population of one.

They landed. Goliath let her down gently. How much it had  
become a part of her, to be carried in his arms! Lexington hopped  
to the ground, continued almost bouncing.

Broadway walked behind him more slowly. He appeared excited,  
but at the same time, sad. Elisa touched his arm.

"Hey, big guy. Are you going to be okay?"

"This is a sacred time for the clan."

"That's not an answer."

He shrugged. She read a lot in his shrug. His missed his mate. In a  
better world, she would have given birth to the first egg. In their world,  
Angela was farther away than a dream, and the egg would be birthed by  
a child. Sometimes it just wasn't fair.

"It _is_ a sacred time," said Goliath. "The adults of the clan gather to  
welcome the eggs into the clan."

"What's it gonna be like?" asked Lex, his eyes wide and eager.

Hudson laughed. "I near fergot. Your clutch was nae present  
fer th' last kindlin'. The females gather in th' rookery wi' their mates."

"What if they don't have mates?" asked Elisa.

Goliath said, "Female Elders would stand beside those who had no  
mate."

_Female Elders ... _"You mean their rookery mothers?"

He nodded and looked pleased.

They reached the chamber that the clones used as their playroom,  
classroom, and bedroom. Delilah sat on a frayed blanket on the floor,  
with Maggie beside her. Ruth, the midwife who'd been examining  
Maggie during her own pregnancy, held a hand on 'Lilah's abdomen.

She looked up from her patient. "Get out."

Maggie got unsteadily to her feet. "Elisa, I'm glad you're here. Can the  
rest of you please wait outside?"

"Why?" asked Lex blankly.

"Because we don't need any more spectators than necessary," said Ruth  
shortly.

"We are not spectators," said Goliath.

"I don't care if you're the President. Unless one of you is the father,  
leave." Delilah's face clenched in pain, and then released. Was she  
okay? Was this part of it? She knew next to nothing about gargoyle  
birthing methods, she realized.

"We are her clan."

"You could've fooled me," the midwife replied harshly. "You don't  
come down to see the clones, and the lot of you avoid 'Lilah like she's  
diseased. If you want her and the rest of them to be part of your clan,  
fine. Treat them that way. But for now, she's been raised human, and  
she's part human. She's going to have her egg the human way, and that  
means you leave." Guilt flashed through the gargoyles' faces, and Elisa  
felt it, too.

"We'll just be outside," she started.

"No," said Maggie and Goliath at the same time.

"You need to be here," said Maggie, as Goliath said, "We're staying."

Ruth glared at Goliath. "Over my dead body."

"Nae," said Hudson, "but mayhap over hers." Gently, he explained,  
"She's gonna have an egg, no' a baby. There's a rhythm tae be made if  
she's tae get th' egg pushed out."

Elisa tuned out the finer points of egg-laying versus live birthing. She  
went to 'Lilah's side and knelt.

"How're you doing?"

"I hurt." Her eyes were filled with pain, and more. Elisa  
understood. She still saw Thailog as her mate, and whatever  
gargoyle instincts she had were screaming that he needed to be with  
her here.

Elisa almost wished he were. There were few places she wanted  
to be less than here. Give me guns, give me terrorists, give me gangs,  
give me catfights with psychotic gods, but please, don't leave me alone  
with a woman going through childbirth.

Mercifully, Maggie came back, and took her place beside Delilah,  
stroking her soft white hair away from her face. "That's my good girl,"  
she whispered. "You're doing just fine."

Rookery mothers stood beside those with no mate. Over the  
past months, Maggie had been more of a mother to the clones than  
Demona, or anyone. Her own baby was on the way in a month, maybe  
less, but her first thoughts right now were for a gargoyle she'd known  
only since September. That was what it meant to be part of a clan.  
Whatever else she was to her, this girl was her rookery daughter. She  
slipped her hand into 'Lilah's.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" she asked. 'Lilah nodded.

She noticed peripherally that the argument had ended. The clan stayed,  
but at a discrete distance. Ruth returned to them and placed her hand  
over Delilah's abdomen. Elisa watched her as she pressed her fingers  
against the lump, wondering suddenly what tragedy or series of  
tragedies had brought her into the safety of the Labyrinth. She had the  
body and attitude of someone who had borne many children, but as far  
as she knew, no children lived with her now.

She frowned, then went to confer with Goliath and Hudson, the  
only ones present who had a working knowledge of gargoyle laying  
habits. Angela wouldn't have been any help, Elisa mused. The only  
female gargoyles in the clan who'd laid eggs were Demona and  
Coldfire, and neither were available.

She returned her attention to Delilah. "Is there anything you want,  
sweetie?"

"Grover."

"She left him in my chamber," said Maggie. "I'll get him." Again, she  
huffed to her feet. Elisa looked around for Derek, thinking he could  
retrieve the purple Muppet, but he had disappeared.

'Lilah clenched again; Elisa felt her own hand bruise. She brushed at  
her hair the way Maggie had done, not sure what else to do. What  
would her own mother have done? She had no idea.

A memory from her childhood returned, a night's stay in the hospital for  
the removal of her tonsils. Mom had by-passed the hospital staff and  
stayed with her, sitting beside the bed, holding her hand and singing.  
She'd been six, and frightened of this strange place. The only familiar  
things had been her mother's voice, and the old, beloved tune.

'Lilah had said that she looked like her mothers.

"Have I ever told you that I'm very glad you were born?"

"Why?"

"Because I like you. You're ... you're very special to me, 'Lilah."

"Really?"

"Really."

She rested her head on Elisa's shoulder. "This is gonna hurt a lot more,  
isn't it?"

"Probably. But we'll all be here with you." She was so young, so  
innocent, for all she'd seen.

Elisa remembered well the words her mother had sung that dark  
night, over and over. They were highly inappropriate for a gargoyle, or  
maybe they fit especially well. In a low voice, she began to sing very  
softly to her frightened child: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.  
You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear,  
how much I love you ... "

She continued to sing until Maggie finally came back with Delilah's  
stuffed Grover. If the clan paid her any attention, she neither knew nor  
cared.

"It's time," said Hudson, approaching them solemnly. "Who would ye  
have with ye, lass?"

"Maggie n' Elisa." _Great._

Delilah hugged Grover, then gave him to Elisa so they could both hold  
on to him as they held hands.

Ruth settled to the ground before her. She'd handle the delivery.  
Goliath moved to a place just behind them. The rest of the clan did the  
same.

"Do ye remember the words?" asked Hudson.

"I remember," said Goliath. "Now is the time that we gather. we of the  
clan. We come to this place ... "

VVVVV

Fox had sent Owen to pick up the Sloanes from La Guardia,  
while she spent time in the nursery with the kids. Alexander had  
discovered the joys of pulling himself from place to place. He  
would hoist his little body up until she was certain he'd stand on  
his own, then fall on his heavily-diapered bottom and giggle.

She'd spread out a cotton blanket in a sunny patch of light,  
polarized by the window. Jasmine lay asleep on her stomach, head  
turned to the side, one pink fist against her mouth. Alex had been  
this small once.

Her son burbled. He'd rediscovered his gargoyle teddy, and  
made noises at it as he pulled one wing back and forth. There was  
a repetition to the tone; he was talking to hear himself talk, but  
it sounded like a first attempt at singing.

"That's a pretty song," she said to him. He turned his head  
to her, then returned his attention to the bear.

The baby hadn't moved in a while. She placed her hand on the  
tiny back. Still breathing.

The first few days with Alexander, after her mother and  
stepfather had left them for greener pastures, had been terrifying.  
She'd checked his breathing every few minutes, made certain he had  
a wedge to keep him from rolling onto his stomach because she'd  
read somewhere that SIDS might be related to that sleeping  
position. Between her checking and his discomfort, neither of them  
had slept much for the first few weeks.

She watched him at play. He was fascinated by the world  
around him. Everything deserved an inspection, from his toys to  
the pattern on his blanket, to the new faces moving in and out of  
his sight. His head, surely too big for his little body, swivelled  
around eagerly for new images once the old had been thoroughly  
digested. She quietly suspected he was a genius.

What would this new baby be like? Would she be curious and  
bubbling with smiles like Alex? She'd slept through the night  
before, had spent today sleeping. Who would she be when she woke  
up? Had she somehow managed to escape the thousand different birth  
defects Fox had tried not to imagine before her birth, or was there  
some unseen threat lurking in her genetic code that would surface  
in a year or in five? With the right environment, she could become  
anything.

Alex pull-crawled to her. Fox didn't move, let him do it on  
his own. Such a perfect little being, she thought, not for the  
first time. Some of the best damned genes on the planet, full of  
potential. He might someday be a king among men, even a god.

He looked up at her. "Maaaa," said Alex.

He'd been forming sounds for a while. He had yet to identify  
them as anything. Yet he was on the floor in front of her, looking  
right at her. Was it possible?

"Alex, can you say 'Mommy?'"

"Maaaa," he repeated, and grinned. The baby didn't stir.

"That's my sweetie," she said, picking him up. He cuddled  
into her arms, rolled over and closed his eyes.

Someday he might be a king. Today, he was just her little boy.

There was a cough at the door. _Damn,_ she thought. She  
swivelled her head and placed a finger over her lips. Victoria  
Sloane waited there, eyes darting around her, taking in the  
spacious room, the thick pile of the carpet, the toys that she and  
David had picked up at FAO Schwartz, finally the three of them on  
the floor.

"Is that her?"

"It's her." Mrs. Sloane came over slowly, as if the walk  
pained her. She got to her knees beside them and looked at her  
granddaughter. "Does she have a name?"

"Jasmine. I've got her birth certificate."

"I'll need that." She touched the child's head. "She looks  
all right. Is she healthy?"

"I had my personal physician check her out. She's just fine."

"Good." She continued stroking the baby's fine brown hair.  
"She looks like Hannah."

"I thought so." Might as well ask now. "Did you hear the  
news report?"

"I heard. I've heard them all, from the day they were  
arrested for trying to kill your husband. They think Jack took her  
out of state. The Feds came by to ask us if we'd seen them."

"Have you?"

"No."

The woman's disinterest shocked her. "They're your children.  
Don't you care about them?"

"Of course I do!" she snapped. "I've always tried to do my  
best by my kids. Everything I did was for their own good."

She remembered the dingy apartment, and a half-dozen  
conversations with her former associates. "Yeah," she said.

"You have a right to talk." She indicated the Baby Disney  
decorations, the designer baby clothes. "I had two kids by the  
time I was nineteen, and had a bastard of a husband. I didn't have  
anywhere else to go, so I took it. Then one night, he ... " She  
swallowed. "Never mind. It's in the past now." Fox didn't press.

"I told him to get out. I was twenty-three, with two kids, no  
diploma, and now no husband. My mom died, and I tried to keep  
everything together but I couldn't. I gave my kids to the state  
for a while. I figured I could get on my feet, go to night school,  
and then get them back after a year or so. I didn't think they'd  
be gone as long as they were.

"I came home from work one night, and found my kids sitting in  
the hallway. They'd gotten themselves thrown out of another home  
because my little girl was pregnant. I looked at her, and I saw  
the last seventeen years of my life about to be repeated. The  
money I'd been saving for college was going to pay for a baby who  
would ruin Hannah's chance at a good life the same way they'd done  
for me, and the best thing I could say about it was that she had  
the sense not to marry the father."

"You said she didn't have another child."

"She had a miscarriage." Her mouth twisted in a familiar  
manner. "Can you imagine how things would have been different if  
I'd miscarried with Jack?"

No doubt the woman was thinking on the wasted years of her  
life, but Fox heard Owen's voice, dispassionately reporting the  
findings from Coyote 3.0's memory tapes, supplementing the news  
from the Emir's last known location: a city in Egypt, gone; over  
five thousand people wiped out with a thought. New York was in  
shock that he'd killed two cops, but he'd done worse, much worse,  
and they would never know.

"I can imagine."

"I might've had a real life. Now I have another baby to raise. Just  
watch. She'll grow up exactly like her mother. She's two days old, and  
I can already tell you what her life is going to be. Just like mine. Just  
like Hannah's. Maybe I can keep this one out of jail. Is she ready to  
go?"

"I suppose." She looked into the future this woman described,  
saw the baby sleeping in the sunlight as a young woman, growing up  
and growing hard. No. She would keep that from happening. There  
would be visits, and trips. She'd show the kid there was more to  
life than that. When the time came, she'd make sure there was an  
opportunity for college. This child was going to have a chance.  
Her thoughts strayed to a little boy she'd met not long before,  
with the same brown hair and eyes. He'd have a chance, too.

She picked up Jasmine. The baby's eyes opened, looked around  
fuzzily, settled on her, and closed again. "Here you go."

Mrs. Sloane stood and took her. Fox picked up Alex and led  
the way to her office. There was paperwork to finalize. The only  
comforting thought was that this had to be the right thing to do.  
The child belonged with her family. All children did. Really.

VVVVV

Demona hovered at the edge of the orchard, her senses keen for  
the sounds of gargoyle or fay. She'd been aware of their nearing  
proximity, and was frankly surprised that she had not been accosted  
yet with demands of who she was and what she wanted. She had her  
story set, would stick to it as long as it took to see Angela. She  
doubted she could get them both free afterwards, what with the  
entire Fairy Court surrounding them, but perhaps she wouldn't need  
to escape. As before, she would docilely be led to captivity, or  
perhaps escorted off the Island. Angela would see her, would hear  
the tale she'd concocted of betrayal, and surely then she would  
want to leave Avalon, see for herself.

And when Demona had her alone, she would show her the true  
evils humanity was capable of; not the petty trifles she'd shown  
Brooklyn, but real horrors like Bosnia and the remains of Auswitz.

She smiled, then put on her most distraught face as she saw  
two young males approaching. Centuries of self-preservation moved  
her into the dappled shadows cast by the moon through the apple  
trees. Her tail made a faint swish in the grass.

The taller male jerked, his overlarge and tapered ears tipping  
towards her. She stopped dead in the darkness, waiting.

"What?" asked his companion, a handsome copperish boy. He  
seemed more perplexed than worried.

"Didn't you hear that?" She could see him clearer now, a  
gangly youth, forest green but for the ebony of his hair. He  
blended with the trees as well as his friend stood out from them.

"Hear what?" The copper looked around them.

"I heard a noise. There's someone here with us."

"Probably all sorts of people. It's a free island. Hello!" he called  
pleasantly. She refrained from responding. The copper turned back to  
the green. "One of Oberon's, I'll bet, and I'll also wager whoever it is  
doesn't want to be disturbed right now, if you take my meaning."

The other male wouldn't be appeased. "It didn't sound like  
one of the fay. It sounded like ... " He paused, uncertain.

"Julius." There was a weary patience to the shorter male's voice.  
"Remember when you thought you heard a dragon in Princess  
Katharine's chambers?"

"That was different. If you'd heard that sound, you would have thought  
so, too." He shuffled uncomfortably in remembrance.

"We'll leave you in peace!" called the copper male towards her  
general direction, then grabbed his friend's arm. "Come on. We can  
gather lunch from the far side of the orchard."

"I guess," said the other, less than happy. Julius, his friend had said.  
"Sorry!" he threw at her, and let his friend lead him into the trees, and  
beyond to darkness. When they were out of earshot, she let herself  
breathe. It might have been easier to let them see her, tell them then.  
No. She wanted to be as close to Angela as possible first.

Demona continued towards the palace, knowing without thought  
that her daughter would be there.

The feeling of unease she had experienced since her arrival  
only increased as she approached the massive edifice, impossibly  
soft grasses stroking her feet and tail. There remained an acrid  
tang of smoke and sharp ozone upon the fresh breeze, less a smell,  
more a memory of a smell, of a battle fought on this previously  
undefiled land. No, beyond the scent of battle, the tracest memory  
of more arcane warfare also lingered here. The innocent grass had  
known the tread of warriors, bloodthirsty soldiers for all that  
they fought without touching their opponents. This land, this  
place, had seen much of fighting, and ghosts of those wars  
persisted, trapped like a mist in the clinging grasses.

_Why can I sense this?_

The gleeful other voice responded in her ears: _You can sense  
this because you caused it. Not all of it, but much. The blood of  
wounded children is on your claws._

_But I've never been here before._

The voice trembled inside her, as if aching to give a  
response. It subsided without answering.

What had happened here? One battle was recent, one ages-old,  
and a third still muttered its ripples although it had occurred in  
time out of mind. Rebellion, she thought, someone had turned  
against the ruler of the Island, and she shuddered the image away.  
A face appeared in her mind, a human male, perhaps of fifty years,  
with long, greying chestnut hair and clear blue eyes. He had a  
sword, and he was using it to strike ... Macbeth?

She cleared her mind of this nonsense. She had never been  
here before, and anything she picked up here was only a shadow of  
what had happened long before her own time.

_Sure it is,_ said the voice.

She hurried through the meadow to the palace gates.

In the twilight, before torches flared everything to a level  
more amenable to seeing, the palace was filled with shapes that  
shambled in and out of moonlight. She saw gargoyles among those  
shapes, and her heart leapt. At the same time, she did not run to  
them, knowing they would realize she was not of their own too soon.  
Instead, she accosted a nearby pixie, darting by in her own  
brightness on some errand. The little thing stood no more than six  
inches in height, blonde hair piled at the top of her head adding  
a half inch.

"Excuse me," said Demona in her most polite voice.

The pixie made a sound like little bells. Although she verbalized  
nothing else, Demona heard a different voice in her mind. "Yes? What  
is it?"

"I'm looking for Angela. Have you seen her?"

The pixie's face turned, more in annoyance than distaste, as  
if to indicate it was not her responsibility to see which gargoyle  
went where. "She's with the princess," came the tinkle in her  
mind. She nodded towards a window overlooking the courtyard;  
Demona knew which she meant instantly. The pixie no doubt was  
saving herself from having to give directions.

"Thank you," she said, gritting her teeth against the sugar in her own  
tone, and belatedly hoping the dim light would hide the obvious years  
on her face, years unknown to the young gargoyles of this island.

The fay shrugged her tiny shoulders and tinkled again. "I know who  
you are. You smell of the Three's magics." The thought was underlaid  
with a sense of disinterest. For the first time in many years, Demona  
was in the company of one who didn't see her as even a potential threat.  
She briefly considered swatting the pixie to show she could, knowing it  
would be useless.

"Wise girl," tinkled the pixie. "Maybe you'll grow up yet."  
She zipped away on the night air. Demona watched her until her  
little light was around a corner and gone.

The night was deepening. Soon there would be firelight, and  
she would be seen. The window and the wall were both still in  
shadows, and somewhat obscured by a large bush, heavy with roses.  
She ducked behind the bush, and swatting away blooms, climbed the  
wall behind it. Her exertions, silent as she could make them, bruised  
the tender flowers and released their thick scent. Her stomach churned  
with sweetness.

She heard voices from within, and paused, hidden, listening.

"Who are you?" It was a woman's voice, filled with time.

"It's Angela." Her heart twisted with the pain in the words,  
picturing her daughter's face.

"Gargoyles don't have names. Except for Goliath, and he's dead."

"We all have names, now. You gave them to us." Gave them?  
Then she was talking to one of the blasted humans who'd raised her.

"Don't be absurd." As if it had been yesterday, she saw a human girl  
before her, snobbish and bigoted, put out by the presence of gargoyles  
in her dining hall. That same spoiled little girl had raised Angela and  
the rest. Raised _her_ children.

"Angela. You were here yesterday."

"Yes!" her daughter said happily. "You remember."

"Of course I remember. I'm not stupid." _I beg to differ,_ Demona  
thought but did not say. "What happened? Why does my leg hurt?"

"You fell. You were walking down the stairs, and you tripped."

"Aye, that would explain it, then. Does the Magus think I broke it?"

_He's dead,_ said the voice in her mind.

_Of course he's dead. He died nine hundred years ago._ But that  
wasn't right. She remembered a hill, a stick-thin body collapsed on a  
stone altar, the sound of a woman weeping.

_What is happening to me?_

_You're remembering._

_Remembering? What have I forgotten?_

_Everything._

"Xanatos' doctor said you had. That's why we brought you home."

"Angela, when did you get so tall? Wasn't it yesterday that you and the  
others were climbing trees to get aloft?"

With her new-found memory, she tried to pull an image of her Angela  
as a little girl, small and bright and full of life. There was nothing.

_Of course not. You weren't there when she was young._

_They stole my eggs!_

_You let them go._ The voice added, _And it was good that you  
did. She's become a fine young woman. Watch her. Listen to her._

Demona climbed higher, peered in through the narrow window.  
Her daughter stood next to a bed. The old human, whom she could  
only assume was Katharine, sat and watched her in confusion.

"That was a while ago. We're all grown up now." She looked  
up at the window. Demona held perfectly still in the shadows until  
she looked back at Katharine again. "In fact, some of us are carrying  
eggs of our own."

_What!_ Her body went numb, and only by force of habit did  
she maintain her hold on the wall. _Egg? My child is pregnant?_

_You're going to be a grandmother._

"How did that happen?" asked Katharine. Angela blushed. "I  
know about that part, child."

"I couldn't tell you before. I've taken a mate. Broadway."

"One of your rookery brothers?"

"No. He's from the clan that you knew when you were young. I love  
him. I love him," she repeated.

Broadway. She would have thought Brooklyn, herself. Among  
the Trio he was the most attractive. She pictured Broadway, large  
and stupid and always hungry. How could her daughter love _him_,  
unless she saw something more. Not for the first time, she regretted not  
knowing the others better. Had she gotten to know them, she might  
have been able to control them.

The woman sat up suddenly and tried to move. She cried out in  
pain.

"You need to rest, my princess," said Angela, and tried to coax her back  
against the pillow.

"I don't have time to rest. We have to gather the eggs and take them to  
my uncle. Tell the Magus to ready a cart and horse. I don't want  
anyone else near them."

This was new. The human surely knew the eggs had already  
hatched. Didn't she?

"Princess," Angela said, "you took the eggs to safety. We  
hatched on Avalon. Remember?"

Katharine looked at her daughter. "Who are you? I haven't seen you  
around the castle."

Angela watched the woman on the verge of tears. She sat down  
on a stool near the bed, her wings folded around her gracefully.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

"A friend," said Angela.

_She's mad,_ thought Demona.

_She's grown old,_ corrected the voice. _You've seen senile humans  
before._

_Why does Angela stay? It's obvious the woman hasn't any idea  
who she is._

_Angela knows that. She doesn't care. Katharine is her  
mother._

_**I'm** her mother! I was the one who carried her egg. I gave  
birth to her._

_Katharine raised her. Katharine loved her. You left her and  
the rest._

_I had no choice!_

_I know that. You also cannot complain._

_But I ... _

_But what?_

She closed her eyes.

VVVVV

He was no longer their Leader, but the new Leader of the clan  
was beside her, holding tightly to her hand. The other had  
graciously agreed to say the words this last time, help bring in  
the new members of their clan. He looked on it as an honor, an  
honor freeing her love to be with her as she pushed their first  
egg into the world.

"Now is the time that we gather, we of the clan." The elder's  
rough voice filled the rookery. Demona allowed his words to  
consume her, focused the muscles in her abdomen to follow his  
cadences. "We come to this place where we were hatched, where our  
rookery parents hatched, this safe place. Winter touches Spring,  
becomes summer, slips into fall, and returns to itself. The sun  
sets, we arise, we fly with the moon, and sleep again with the  
dawn." The words dulled the pain, made it power.

Sweat rolled off her face, her arms. A wave of agony rippled  
through her body; she forced it to work for her. Her knees ached  
from squatting, another pain to focus into her exertions. She felt  
a hand wiping her damp hair off her cheek, turned to see her love  
watching her with awe and envy. He had helped her conceive the  
mystery; only she and the other females around them could complete  
it. Theirs was a sacred rite the males could but join in by proxy.  
The mothers were the keepers of the bloodlines, the movers of the  
worlds, as it had been in their clan since forever.

"Tonight we begin another circle. We that are here hatched  
long ago. The shells that were our parents still crunch at our  
feet, making a nest for our children. Tonight our children will be  
born, as we are born each night. We will watch them in love when  
they are eggs, teach them our ways when they are hatchlings, hold  
them in friendship when they are grown, and bring them here when  
their time has come to lay eggs of their own. Thus the world moves  
on, as night follows day, as winter follows autumn, as death follows  
birth and birth follows death. Thus closes the circle."

He paused. "Now is the time that we gather ... "

Her body was going to rip apart. She was going to die. She  
threw back her head, pushing all her pain into one bright ball, and  
forced the thing within her out of her body with a scream.

Her love let loose of her hand, and cradling that hand beneath  
his arm, used his free hand to coax loose the egg, remained holding  
it as she spasmed twice more in after-quake.

The sudden absence of pain came like an unexpected rainstorm.  
She barely felt the continued ache of flesh stretched and swollen, as she  
fell from her knees to her side and lay still. Her love held the delicate  
egg in his large hands, and showed it to her. She reached out, felt the  
leathery softness of yielding shell. By morning, it would solidify, and  
begin the long process of maturation. Ten years from now, the clan's  
eggs would hatch.

"Thus closes the circle," intoned the elder, as the last of her rookery  
sisters pushed out an egg.

Her love's face had retained the same look of wonder, had gained more  
if that were possible. He was their Leader now, was supposed to be  
strong and wise. For this moment, he was a hatchling who had seen the  
face of the Goddess as she'd given birth to the World-Egg again through  
her.

"My Angel," he choked out, still staring at their egg.

"The kindling is complete," said the elder, and she noticed that he also  
wore the look of magic. "We welcome these eggs to the clan, our sons  
and daughters to be. May they grow in safety. May they grow in joy."

VVVVV

Demona risked another peek at Angela. She remained on her  
stool beside Katharine's bed, unaware that she was being watched  
from a few feet away. _She's beautiful,_ thought Demona.

_Aye,_ agreed the voice. _She's got the best parts of both of  
you._

_I need to protect her. She deserves so much more._

_Than happiness? Look at her._

_I **am** looking at her._

_Look closely._

Demona did. Beyond the apparent sadness at the condition of the  
woman before her, an emotion played on Angela's face that Demona  
knew only from memory. On Avalon, she had grown in safety. In  
Manhattan, she had grown in joy. She was in love, with Broadway of  
all gargoyles. She carried his child; the glow of that shone on her face  
now that Demona knew for what she looked. She was strong, and wise,  
and graceful. And happy.

_If you go to her now, you will steal away her happiness. You will be  
responsible for her pain._

_I would never hurt her. I love her!_

_Do you?_

"Yes," she said aloud. Angela's head turned, but she did not see her.

_Then do something about it._ The voice left her again.

Angela was with the only mother she'd ever known, and when  
that woman died, she would mourn, far more than she probably would  
were Demona herself to die. In a short time, Angela would push her  
own egg into the world, and ten years after that, she would hold  
her child in her arms. All the clan would. Did Demona have the  
right to take away that joy by interfering? Angela was her egg,  
her only egg. But her egg had hatched and grown without her.

Demona watched her daughter, inscribing every detail of her  
face to memory, taking note of each muscle's movement beneath her  
skin, each expression of mouth and eye, the gentle shape of her  
neck and shoulders, even the texture of her wings.

_I did that,_ she thought with pride. She spared a glance to the old  
woman. _And so did you, I suppose._ She hadn't the strength to hate  
Katharine anymore, not if Angela insisted on loving her. Simple  
contempt was easy enough, and could remain.

Again, she focused on her daughter, wishing she could scoop her up,  
place her back inside her egg, and begin again; barring that, she wished  
she could enfold her child in her arms, feel her soft hair, tell her a  
thousand years' worth of stories, never let her go.

Neither option was possible.

"I love you," Demona said in the softest voice she dared.

Angela's head did not move this time. If she'd heard anything  
at all, she probably thought it the wind, nothing more.

Silent as the moon, she climbed down the wall. The darkness  
was full on them, and had been appropriately driven back with fire.  
The fay were gathering in the courtyard, bringing pipes and drums  
and harps. There would be fairy music, as Oberon's Children  
celebrated the restoration of their family.

Demona didn't feel like attending any more parties. She slipped around  
the perimeter of the courtyard, keeping an eye open for the Three and  
Oberon's annoying little servant. If they found her there, they could  
bind her.

She stepped through the gates of the palace, and breathed a  
sigh of relief. Without looking back inside, towards the window,  
towards her child, she walked purposefully away and towards the  
shore. Only when she stepped on the sand did she realize she had  
no idea where to go next.

Back to New York? To Paris? To Scotland?

_Just away,_ said the voice, and she agreed.

VVVVV

"Our charge is getting away!" Selene snarled at the mirror.  
It was not their mother's mirror, but their own, which meant no  
traveling to capture the retreating gargoyle.

"Peace, sister," said Phoebe. "We have no need of her now."

"We could use her. If we enchanted her, she could eliminate  
the Puck."

"We dare not," Phoebe responded. "They know what we have  
done. Our little sister could bring the matter to the Queen."

"But the Puck ... "

"Will be taken care of," said Luna. "He will break his  
banishment to seek us, and then Oberon will deal with him."

"What if our Lord allows him to speak?"

Phoebe added, "Oberon always did favor Puck."

"He is still angry with him. And if he does allow the brat to  
speak, we will also speak. Let the Puck come." Luna smiled into  
the mirror, her beautiful, cold face superimposing over the  
miniaturized image of Demona in her fingernail of a ship, drifting  
out to sea.

VVVVV


End file.
